When in Rome
by Stargatefriends
Summary: Team Sheppard travels to Belosia where they discover the origin of the Minotaur, but with everything the Ancients did, the truth is worse than the fiction. Round Robin fic written by Kariesue, kickstand75, firedew, Mysra, and Amycat 8733. John/Teyla. Updates every Saturday.
1. Another Headache

**Author(s) Notes****:** Hi, there! Firedew here, speaking for the Friends this time around. This fic was our response to a challenge on LJ Beya to write John/Teyla in relation to Greek and/or Roman myth. So five of us girls put our heads together and here's what we came up with. This story comes with chapters penned by **Kariesue**, **kickstand75**, **firedew** (me), **Mysra**, and **Amycat8733**,to be posted on Saturdays every week. This first installment is written by the amazing **Kariesue**.

Bear in mind, this fic is rated M for a reason, so readers beware. Human rights issues, violence, and smut abound.

Mostly, we just hope you enjoy the ride. We had so much fun collaborating on this story and are very excited to bring it you! Thanks!

**.**

**Chapter 1 - Another Headache**

**by: Kariesue**

**.**

A loud roar echoed through John Sheppard's already pounding head causing his eyes to fly open, something they had been trying to avoid for a few moments. He shouldered himself to a sitting position and found Ronon Dex shaking his own head, the cause of the roar. Did he have that staccato disco beat driving him crazy too?

John glanced around to see Rodney still out cold on the dirt floor of what looked to be a stone enclosure. Hadn't they just been walking over some pleasantly rolling hills? Their weapons were gone and even their tac vests and radios had been taken. John should feel lucky they'd left him his boots, t-shirt and pants. Just another typical day with the Pegasus Galaxy laughing at them.

"Is everyone alright?" John asked then panic set in. "Where's Teyla? Ronon, where's Teyla?"

Ronon turned his gaze to the small space and shook his head. His groan let John know the movement had caused the jackhammer to run at full speed. "I don't know. Teyla!"

Ronon's yell had John cringing but it finally woke McKay from his beauty rest.

"Oh, God, what did I have to drink last night?" McKay whined as he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Did Zelenka give me some of that Czech home brew again?"

John stood and swayed for a minute, reaching out to steady himself on the wall. Three of the walls were solid stone while the fourth had four small round windows, barely a foot in diameter, and the door. The door was made of thick wood and John moved to it, afraid it would be locked. He pushed against it and his fears were confirmed. It didn't budge.

"Hey, Chewie, give me a hand trying to get this open."

Ronon lunged to his feet and threw himself toward the door. John moved swiftly out of the way, knowing this wouldn't end good. The door had seemed pretty solid to him.

When Ronon bounced back like a rubber ball and growled a Satedan obscenity, John just shook his head. "Yeah, didn't think that would work."

Ronon glowered at him. "Why didn't you say so before I dislocated my shoulder?"

John merely smirked. "You wouldn't have listened to me if I'd told you not to, so why bother? And your shoulder isn't dislocated so let's take a better look at this door and see if there's an easier way to open it without bashing our brains in. McKay, maybe you could deign to help us. You know, use some of that brilliance you're always touting to find a way to get it open."

Rodney struggled to his feet and John tried to see out the small windows. He didn't like the fact that Teyla wasn't with them. Or that he couldn't even remember how they'd gotten here. Maybe Teyla was just in another holding cell.

"Teyla? Can you hear me, Teyla?"

"Oh, please, Sheppard, must you yell?" McKay whined. "I've got a massive headache."

"We all do, Rodney. Suck it up. Aren't you even the tiniest bit concerned that Teyla isn't here with us?"

"Of course I am," McKay growled as he perused the mechanics of the door. "Maybe we'll get lucky and she'll be mistaken for some goddess and they'll want her to rule their kingdom."

John rolled his eyes, muttering, "Right."

Sounds from outside echoed through the dark hallway, interrupting their examination of the door. They all moved back but stood ready to attack if need be. John threw a warning look at Ronon. "Let's see what they want first before we start tackling anyone, okay, Big Guy?"

Ronon just grunted.

The door swung open and two large men stood in the doorway. They were dressed in short robes garnished with thick leather belts and chest plates. They wore sandals on their feet and carried lethal looking swords. The swords were pointed in the direction of the small stone room ... and the three men in it.

"Gentlemen," John greeted amicably, giving them his best friendly smile. Ronon scowled and Rodney just looked petrified. "Seems we got off on the wrong foot. I'm not sure what exactly we did, but I'm sure we can work something out."

"You must come with us," the larger of the two stated emotionlessly. He moved out of the way and pointed down the hall with his sword.

John sighed and walked through. "That whole we-come-in-peace thing never works quite like it does in the movies."

"So, uh, Spartacus," John addressed the brute closest to him, "We had another friend with us when we got here, to your planet I mean. Pretty girl, dressed like us. You wouldn't happen to know where she is, would you?"

"You will be presented to the council and the magistrate will let you know your new role here."

"New role? No, no, no, no, no," Rodney whined. "Uh, we've already got roles where we come from. We're not looking for a new job, just to become friends if possible, share knowledge."

"But it's okay if you don't want to share," John added. "We're happy to just collect our things and leave you fine folks alone. No harm done."

The two guards remained silent, one in front and the other behind. John thought of rushing the one near him, knowing Ronon would catch on quick and take care of the one in the rear. But they still had no idea where Teyla was or what the situation was. There could be a whole platoon waiting up ahead for them, all armed with the lethal swords. He couldn't risk it. And he'd never put Teyla in danger like that.

The dark corridor opened up to a large area that led to a variety of archways. Guards stood at each opening. Yup, good decision to wait it out.

The first guard indicated they should follow him through the largest door in the middle. John looked around, noting each of the doorways and tried to see what lay behind. Ronon was doing the exact same thing, only he seemed to be sizing up the man at each door as well.

They walked through the archway and John's eyes widened at the size of the room. It was enormous. A dozen men and women sat on a raised section against one wall, all on elegantly carved and upholstered chairs. A dozen long benches with cushions lined the other walls and had hanging fabric draped artfully so the curtains could be lowered to provide the inhabitant privacy. A little daytime nap perhaps or did some people live in this room?

As they were herded over to the group of people, one of the older men stood up.

"Hi," John greeted trying again for his most solicitous smile.

He was immediately pushed to the floor as the guard near him shouted, "Kneel before the magistrate! And do not speak until you are spoken to."

John glanced over seeing Rodney comply right away but it took three guards to get Ronon down. John nodded at the big guy and he settled slightly.

John kept his head lowered in case staring was considered bad manners but lifted his eyes a tiny bit to see what was going on. The man who had stood was dressed in long purple robes with elaborate drapes across his shoulders and chest. He gazed scrupulously at the three of them then walked over to John.

"You are the leader of this group."

It didn't sound like a question but John nodded anyway. "Yeah, and I'd like to know the whereabouts of our other friend who was with us." He needed to know Teyla was okay.

"Is she your personal slave?"

"Slave?" John looked up quickly and gritted his teeth. He hated when people believed in slavery. But he knew he needed to be careful what he said around them. Things could go FUBAR way too quickly if he said the wrong thing. "No, she's not a slave. But she does belong with us and we have great respect for her. We also want to know that she's all right."

"She has not been touched by another, if that is your concern." The man turned and motioned to someone else then turned back to John. "I am Dux Ducis, the magistrate here. And you are...?"

"Colonel John Sheppard. I'm the military commander of my people." John didn't know why he added that but he had a feeling this man respected authority and it might make things easier for them. "This is Ronon Dex and Dr. Rodney McKay."

"Doctor ... I had wondered why one so ... soft... would be travelling with warriors. That answers my question."

"Um, you still haven't answered my question. Where is our friend?"

"She is on her way. One of her beauty must be properly prepared to be seen in the house of the council. It is not right to dress her as you have, though I assume it was for her safety, so she would not be claimed by others."

John narrowed his eyes and gave a half nod. "Right."

Several women entered the doorway across from the one they'd come in by. John stared and sure enough, Teyla was with them. She didn't look happy but she didn't seem hurt either. Relief surged through him.

"Teyla, you okay?" John called out and her eyes lit up when she saw him. He loved how she looked at him that way, like he was her hero. Hopefully in this case it would be true. He still hadn't found out what these people wanted with them. The comment about roles earlier hadn't made John feel all that comfortable.

Teyla smiled and nodded at him. "Yes, John, I am fine."

John had to admit she looked more than fine. She looked amazing. She'd been changed into robes similar to the locals. Hers were a soft color that made her copper skin glow and John's palms itched at the urge to touch it. The fabric draped across one shoulder leaving the other bare and it flowed down to the floor. A gold cord was wrapped under her breasts and wound around her waist almost to her hips. It showcased her figure almost more than her sparring outfit did, even though it contained much more fabric.

"I appreciate you decking her out so nice, but we really need to leave. Our people will be wondering where we are about now. If you'll just return our things ..."

"You cannot leave us yet," Ducis announced. "We have not spoken of how we may assist each other. Is that not the reason you came?"

John hesitated. So far it had seemed like they'd been taken prisoner and now the man wanted to talk trade. He wasn't sure what to believe.

"Sure," John answered skeptically gazing at his team, one by one. Rodney was still wearing the petrified look. Ronon's scowl hadn't disappeared at all and Teyla seemed nervous but her diplomatic smile appeared solidly in place.

Ducis stepped down from the raised section and motioned to a gathering of seats across the room. John paused and tilted his head at Ronon and Rodney. "I need my team with me."

"We are not going far but I will allow you your entourage. Men of our standing demand the service of others. The large one is your bodyguard, I assume."

John hated to relegate Ronon to that but wasn't certain how Ducis would take it so he replied, "That's one of his many talents. And I need McKay ..."

"Your advisor," Ducis said. "I see that he is an academic. He may come too."

"And Teyla," John insisted. At the frown on the magistrate's face, John continued, "She keeps me diplomatic. It's best if she's nearby."

Ducis nodded to the women near Teyla and they moved to allow her to follow the men across the room. John noticed the swish of the fabric around her curves and his hands clenched searching for control. He needed all his faculties right now and having Teyla sit near him with this delicious outfit on might not be advantageous. He'd always been aware of her presence but he was even more so now with what she was wearing.

John and Ducis sat in the primary seats with Ronon and Rodney sitting to the sides. When Teyla approached Ducis nodded at the space on the small bench near John. Teyla nodded graciously and sat.

John didn't like the way Ducis' eyes travelled down Teyla's figure. The smirk that grew on his face just made him boil. He needed to keep his head about him or this could all go south very quickly.

"You are a lucky man, Colonel John Sheppard, to own something of such exquisite beauty." John felt Teyla stiffen beside him. He knew she would hate being thought of as property.

"I told you, she's not ..."

"Your slave," Ducis cut in. "Yes, I understand. But all women must be controlled by a guardian and so she belongs to you in this fashion. If she did not, I would find it very tempting to claim her for my own. My wife recently passed and I am searching for a new wife to service my needs."

John looked down at Teyla who slipped her hand through his arm and squeezed it against her chest. She gazed up at him sweetly and John's heart skipped a few beats. What was she doing? She squeezed his arm again and looked at Ducis.

"I wish you luck in your search, magistrate," Teyla said demurely while clinging onto John's arm tightly.

What was going on? There must be some reason she'd gone all submissive on him. Of course she'd been in the back room with the other ladies for a while. Maybe she'd learned something during that time that told her she needed to act this way. He'd just enjoy it for now. Usually she was beating the crap out of him.

"So," John began, "Magistrate, what should we discuss? Maybe how we ended up here without remembering anything?"

"Please call me Ducis. And you shall be called ...?"

"Sheppard is fine. I'm wondering about our gear?"

"All in good time, Sheppard. For now we must partake of our midday meal. After that, you and your consort will be assigned one of the cubiles to use for the afternoon. We will begin discussion during evening meal."

John turned his head in the direction the magistrate had pointed and saw he was indicating the small bed-like benches with the curtains. Great! They were expected to nap while in the middle of negotiations.

"I think we're ..."

"Nonsense, you must be given the accoutrements of your status. Now for our meal." Ducis clapped his hands and a dozen servants arrived with small tables and trays of food. Rodney looked eager finally but Ronon still grumbled. Teyla sat back allowing John to put some items on a plate.

"Aren't you getting anything?" John asked, worried about her behavior.

"I must defer to you and eat only when you allow it," Teyla whispered near his ear. "And we must keep up this pretense or I will be in grave danger. Please, John, I cannot protect myself from this and you cannot either."

John picked up a piece of bread and dipped it in the wine sauce then moved it to Teyla's lips. As she took a bite, John lowered his voice. "I'll do whatever I need to, Teyla. Maybe when we have our little ... nap..." he cocked his head in the direction of the curtained benches, "you can fill me in a little more on what's going on here."

Teyla nodded her head and took another bite from the food in John's hand. John continued to take a few bites and give Teyla some as well. Ducis watched them like a hawk, his eyes very interested in their movements.

As he held a piece of fruit for her to bite, he leaned over, blocking Ducis' view. "You don't need to worry, Teyla. I won't let anybody hurt you. I promise."

Her anxious eyes raised to his. "Thank you, John. That means everything to me. But you may not have a choice."


	2. Project Asterius

**Chapter Two – Project Asterius**

**By: Kickstand75**

"So, let me get this straight, Ducis. You want to sacrifice Teyla in the hopes that it will appease whatever monster you think is living down below your city, is that right?" John's hand, which had somehow connected to Teyla's underneath the table, tightened. He had sat for the last fifteen minutes or so listening to the magistrate outline a plan which included sacrificing Teyla as bait to draw out some sort of mutant escaped creature hiding below the city. His outburst had been made to stall Ronon from attacking the man and making a bad situation even worse.

"Sheppard," Ronon growled at him, "You just gonna let this happen?"

"Listen, Ronon," John whispered, hopefully low enough to avoid the attention of Ducis who was engaged in some technical back and forth with Rodney. "I don't think we have much choice here. With weapons gone and no exact positioning, we just have to wait this one out. Atlantis will realize we've missed our check-in sooner or later and come after us. We'll just have to play along until then."

It was the play along part that had John worried. They almost always managed to out-smart their opponents, but he didn't much like the part where Teyla was the bait to lure this thing out of hiding. He looked over to Rodney, and tuned in to what they were saying.

"I still don't understand though how this creature will be lured by Teyla, Ducis. You're just not making any sense at all." Rodney was being his best and usual condescending self. "John, this -

"Be nice, Rodney." Sheppard warned.

"- the magistrate" amended Rodney after seeing the frown on John's face, "thinks that the creature may be lured by something in Teyla's DNA; Something specific only to her that they picked up on their initial scan of us when we came through the Gate."

John looked to Ducis for confirmation. From everything they had initially been told about M4A-337, this should have been nothing more than a primitive society. They hadn't bothered with sending a MALP through at all because Atlantis' scans had picked up nothing more ominous than bronze and iron weapons. It was why they had come through the Gate on foot rather than with a jumper. Standard protocol was to not scare the locals if they were a primitive society.

Something about the fact that Rodney had said initial scan from the Ducis' people made him wonder if the rescue he was hoping for might not be coming. Stargate Command had just implemented new policies regarding embedded chips into every expedition member, but perhaps if these people could scan for DNA, they may have found the locator beacons and shorted them during the first few moments they were out. John tucked the knowledge into the back of his head for later. No point in worrying about something that may or may not be a problem.

"Magistrate Ducis, it would be helpful to my team if we could see the scans of us from when we came through the Stargate." John used the technical term for the Gate rather than what was used by more primitive societies, the Ancestral Ring. He figured if these people had advanced enough technology to run DNA scans, then they knew enough to call it by its real name.

"Of course, Colonel Sheppard, of course," Ducis surprisingly agreed, which made John all the more uneasy about

this whole situation. "I will have my people deliver those to you in your cubile. For now, let us continue with our meal. You can let me know if you have further questions after reading what we know of the creature."

John looked down to Teyla, who had inched her way closer to him while he was speaking with the leader. Since she had seemed so adamant that her safety was at risk, he indulged himself just a bit and fed her another choice piece of meat from his plate.

"As requested, here are the scans we made of you upon your arrival." A tunic wearing young man delivered the files to the team a short time after they had been made comfortable in their temporary quarters. John had convinced the magistrate that he needed both Ronon and Rodney close by in case he needed anything. Teyla was already expected to stay with him, so no argument was necessary there.

John decided to push the young messenger for a little bit of information. "So, uh, buddy, do you mind telling me a little about your planet?"

"Primus Pilus, it isn't permitted to speak with you regarding such matters. I was directed by the Dux to solely give you these papers and nothing more. My name is Aelius. Should you need anything further for your comfort, please call for me. I will be nearby."

"Aelius, Primus Pilus?" John inquired before the young man could retreat through the curtains. He figured it had to be some sort of title. These people were big on titles and following orders it seemed.

"Yes, Primus, I was told by the Dux that is your rank. Is it not? My apologies." Without further comment, Aelius retreated from the small quarters quickly, but John had no doubts he would be near. Though he wasn't sure the motives for the young man staying close by were entirely for their comforts only.

"Rodney, what do you have?" John turned to his friend who had taken the files from Aelius and had presumably had enough time to skim them at least.

"Give me more than a second, Primate," snarked Rodney, purposely getting John's new title incorrect knowing it would rile his friend. "It's not easy translating from Ancient to English, you know?"

Knowing his friend worked best under pressure, John prodded. "We don't have all day here. They want Teyla to be bait for whatever is underneath this city at sunrise tomorrow morning. It's not getting any earlier."

"Okay, okay. I got something. Says here that - and mind you, this is just a rough translation, some of which we already knew - the Ancients created this outpost as a lab for genetic testing. Sounds familiar, right? But instead of testing iratus DNA with humans, the lab on this planet was used for mixing more exotic DNA. They called the project _Asterius._ The lab and outpost was abandoned after a particular experiment involving a human male, an iratus bug, and a bull went haywire and killed almost all the Ancients in the lab. They fled through the Gate leaving the remainder of the experiment's subjects behind." Rodney closed the file and looked to Teyla with a grim expression on his face.

"Teyla," Rodney continued, "I'm afraid that's why they need you. It's a handwritten add-on to the back page of the file that their scan of us picked up that you have the DNA necessary to communicate with this creature."

John picked up when Rodney trailed off. "They're hoping Teyla will lure this beast out of hiding? To kill it? For something else? Either way, we need to figure out a way to convince them to let us go with Teyla tomorrow morning. I'm liking this planet less and less. Any ideas?"


	3. A House of Pretenders

Warning: Violence against women and general skeeziness.

**.**

**Chapter 3 – A House of Pretenders**

**by: firedew**

**.**

xo

An hour later, their discussions had led them nowhere promising and the cords binding Teyla's dress tightly around her figure had begun to chafe through the layers of finely woven fabric.

"But what about Atlantis?" Rodney said. "They're bound to notice we haven't checked in soon. Lorne will show up with a team and we'll—"

John shook his head. "We can't rely on a rescue, Rodney. You know how these first contact missions are. We never know if we're gonna be running back through the Gate in five minutes or if we'll get stuck celebrating our new found acquaintance for the next three days. The last time Team Six made a new friend, we didn't see them again for a week. There's no guarantee our people will try to contact us before sunrise, and even if they do, we don't know that the rescue team won't wind up with their memories scrambled and their weapons snatched just like ours were, or that our locator chips haven't been messed with."

"We need to get our weapons back," Ronon growled, standing with his back against the wall, his broad arms folded across his chest.

John released a frustrated sigh. Like him, Teyla felt the conversation had begun to move in circles. They had been over all this before. "I know, Chewie. I'd get us all the hell out of here right now if I thought we stood a chance, but I doubt Ducis is gonna let Teyla go that easily. Not if she's the cure for their monster problem. For now, we keep making nice. If we play our parts right, maybe we can convince him that we can handle this creature our way, instead of having to offer Teyla up on a silver platter."

John's eyes traveled over to meet hers, an apology apparent in his hazel depths at his lack of a better plan.

"We will find a way, John," she said softly. She still believed they would. When all the variables finally presented themselves, they would come up with something. There hadn't been a situation yet when John hadn't found a way to bring them all home, this time would be no different. In the meantime, Teyla was steeling herself to face this unnatural creature on her own, whether that meant communicating with it as the Ancestors' notes seemed to suggest she could or killing it herself.

What she wouldn't give for a simple knife.

Moments later, heavy footfalls approached the cubile, echoing against the polished stone floors. The four of them automatically tensed. Ronon reached for the grip of his blaster and scowled as he remembered it wasn't where it belonged. Rigid, Rodney sat on one end of the narrow bed-like bench set aside for John and Teyla's use and eyed the surrounding curtain in nervous anticipation of it being flung open.

John's arm encircled her waist. Caution shadowed his expression as he caught her gaze and pulled her body closer to him. They were meant to be playing the part of lovers, after all. Teyla's heart skipped an anxious beat as his warmth permeated the thin layers of her dress and his breath began to tickle her neck. With a flutter of new anticipation surging in her belly, she settled against him and delicately placed her hand on his thigh.

As expected, the filmy fabric drapes that allowed them a small semblance of privacy from the rest of the residents were thrust aside. Aelius, the young messenger that had been assigned to them, stood before them with the hulking soldier John had facetiously referred to as Spartacus just to his rear.

The dour warrior rivaled Ronon in size and was obviously a seasoned fighter. Veins lined the thick muscle of his forearms, and he wore his heavy armor and chest plate as comfortably as John wore a t-shirt. Aelius, on the other hand, had an oval face, shortly cropped brown curls, and open features. Compared to Spartacus, the boy - at perhaps fourteen - seemed positively cherubic.

"Honored visitors, my apologies for the interruption." To Teyla's irritation, Aelius' addresses were meant exclusively for the men. Then he focused on John in particular. "Primus, the Magistrate has directed me to accompany your consort to the ladies' pavilion to be seen to."

Even in such close proximity, Teyla was confident John couldn't feel the sudden rapid thumping of her heart at the thought of going back there. Nevertheless, his grip subtly tightened around her. "She's fine here."

"I assure you, sir, she will be well taken care of," the boy continued. "The maidservants will see to her comfort and prepare her for the night. Once they have finished, she will be returned to you, and in the meantime you and your companions may do so as well. We can see that your clothing is washed and pressed, and my lord has stated that you are most welcome to sample a vintage from his private stores, if you wish."

"I don't think that'll be necessary," John said brusquely.

Dark brown, almost black eyes from the waiting soldier peered down on the pair of them, holding a palpable tint of danger. Though Spartacus had said nothing thus far, Teyla readily got the message that they had little choice in the matter.

He was wearing one of those … things … looped to his sword belt next to his dagger, a glossy black cylinder with evenly spaced grips along its entire length. An object that did not belong, given this society's current level of development. The Belosians, as they were called, took their ways very seriously. There were certain expectations of behavior - especially where the women were concerned - and deviations were often dealt with harshly. She had already been made to witness one such incident. She had no desire to see it happen again.

"It is alright, my dearest." Teyla hid her hesitation at the uncommon endearment between them by lowering her eyelids and projecting a look of undisguised affection toward John. It wasn't difficult. "It is very generous of them to concern themselves with my comfort. I would hate to cause them any offense."

John observed her carefully. He took her veiled warning seriously and it showed. "Well, you know I don't much like the idea of you being … away from me, but I suppose I can let you go for a little while."

As he released her, Aelius' smile grew. "A sound judgment, Primus. I am sure you will be most pleased upon her return."

"Just don't be long," John said with a tight frown.

Standing over him, Teyla squeezed his hand as Spartacus loomed behind her. "Let us go then, woman," he said, his voice all coarseness and grit. "We will have you back to your master shortly."

* * *

><p>The ladies' pavilion was a large wing on the northeast corner of the Magistrate's manse. There was only one corridor leading to the sole entrance, which was always kept under guard. The long open air passageway was lined with multiple archways that gave a view of the lush, manicured gardens that surrounded this end of the house. Only the locked chamber at the end boasted a better one. A beautiful view for the beauties inside, she had been told by their illustrious host upon awakening there. However, it had quickly become apparent that this so-called paradise was more like a prison.<p>

Teyla had awoken disoriented with a miserable headache, the memory of stepping through the Stargate and walking across hilly countryside foremost in her mind. As she came to, a middle-aged man draped in long purple robes had been fondling her neck and face - a man she now knew to be Dux Ducis.

"You truly are an exquisite specimen."

At that point, her awareness rapidly peaked. Teyla sat up quickly and noted the presence of two armed guards at the door and the bevy of women in between them, young and old, servants and high class, their apparel marking the difference. All of them with equally dead eyes.

"Who are you? Where am I?" she had asked.

It was then that Ducis had introduced himself as the Magistrate of the Belosian province of Minoa and explained that she and the rest of her team were welcome there as his guests. His cloying inflection had been enough for Teyla to know things were neither as simple nor as pleasant as he was making them out to be.

Ducis' apparent regard for her questions quickly evaporated and then the precariousness of her situation became all too clear. Her weapons already gone, he ordered her to be stripped, washed, and her uniform taken away. "Do not worry, sweet creature," Ducis had said in answer to her alarmed protests, "we can certainly provide you with clothing better suited to you than that crude disguise. A woman of such unparalleled beauty should not hide herself in a man's garb."

She had fought at first, then Ducis had insisted on a demonstration of what would happen if she continued to misbehave. One of the girls present was chosen at random. Begging for mercy, she was forced to her knees by the guards, one of whom produced a black cylinder just like the one Spartacus had.

Teyla had never heard screams like that before. She shuddered to think she ever would again.

As Aelius approached the entrance, Teyla's stomach churned as she remembered the lustful gleam in Ducis' gaze as the maidservants carried out his initial edict and removed her clothing.

Once inside, she was set upon by the same two women that had cared for her before. Teyla had asked them their names, but they had both declined to give them. They were no one of consequence. What use would names serve? So one Teyla had silently nicknamed Grey One for her greying hair and aged stoop, the other she called Whistler for her tendency to breathe through her teeth. The pair of them took her to the bath. A young girl with a bounding gait and long dark pigtails was quick to scoop up Teyla's dress and carry it off. Unlike the others, she still had spark of life about her. Teyla wondered with sadness how long it would be before she was as lifeless as the rest.

While other ladies in varying states of undress went through a similar process all over the expansive room, Teyla was scrubbed slowly but thoroughly. Liquid soap was massaged over her skin and rinsed, the process repeated over and over until not an inch had been left untouched. Her hair was washed and scented with the essence of a flower, though she didn't recognize the particular fragrance, and once she was finished and dried, Whistler painstakingly began to brush out her hair while Grey One slathered her in a thin coating of body oils, making the rich hue of her skin shine.

"How does your master like you?" Grey One asked abruptly, her hands moving with expert ease.

Teyla blinked out of the withdrawn state which allowed her to tolerate their unwanted ministrations. "What do you mean?"

"When you bed down with him at night, does he prefer you ready for him or does he prefer to disrobe you himself?"

Teyla tried not to make her sudden dilemma obvious. As John's lover, she would naturally be expected to know his habits and desires. In spite of the slight rush of warmth gathering in her cheeks, it wouldn't do for them to know she'd never before had to anticipate how John might want her to come to his bed.

A few minutes earlier, the dark-haired girl had laid out a long shimmering white robe and matching silk nightgown on the nearby table. It was hard to tell exactly what the nightgown looked like while it was folded, but Teyla could see that it left little to the imagination. Still, the decision was easy. While it was difficult to envision John's reaction if she was brought back to him wearing such a thing, it would hardly compare to what he would do if she was returned wearing nothing at all.

"My master," Teyla tried not to visibly frown as she forced herself to say the word, "likes to see to that part himself."

Grey One nodded matter-of-factly, as if it was an everyday occurrence to prepare another woman for her lover's touch. Teyla supposed that in this place it might be.

The nightgown slid effortlessly over her head and into place. The material hugging her body, Grey One helped her into the robe while Whistler resumed work on her hair. Leaving the majority loose, she parceled out sections, twisted them into delicate spirals, and fastened them into place with small hairpins.

With those finishing touches swiftly coming together, Grey One told the dark-haired girl to summon her escorts inside. Oddly, the young girl seemed delighted to be assigned that particular task. She grinned happily as Aelius and Spartacus entered.

The armor clad soldier took one look at the girl's cheerful expression and reprimanded her with a razor sharp glare and harsh words too low for Teyla to hear. It was painful for her to watch the girl shrink beside him. Making herself practically invisible, she trotted off with her eyes downcast. But not before casting Aelius one last glance.

Under the pressure of Spartacus' severe scrutiny, the youth lowered his head and pretended not to notice.

Spartacus moved his barbed stare to Teyla. A tic of his cheek softened his scowl to form a more calculating facade. And in an instant it was gone as Ducis strolled in behind them.

"Why, Teyla, you are a vision." He strutted up to her like a peacock without even a fraction of the allure. He dismissed Grey One and Whistler with a salient glance. They bowed and unassumingly padded away. "I had hoped my business would permit me to be here sooner," he said, reaching out to run his finger along a lock of her hair, "but such is the burden of a leader. We must make sacrifices for the well-being of the citizenry."

Teyla clutched her robe tighter around her as he freely ogled her figure. Revulsion brewed in her stomach.

"You are doing me and my people a great service, Teyla. I hope you find our hospitality satisfying," he said shrewdly. "I am sure your Colonel Sheppard will be most pleased."

She held her chin high and gave a cool smile. "I am certain he will."

Ducis smiled in return, a politician's smile. "So tell me, Teyla, are your means on your homeworld as luxurious as we have here? Does Colonel Sheppard provide you with all you deserve?" He gradually circled her, not caring to hear her answers, simply enjoying the sound of his own voice.

He put his odious hands on her waist. Teyla inhaled sharply as he began to rub along her hips, his fingers stretching to brush her thighs and along her backside. She glanced over his shoulder to Spartacus and the black cylinder hanging at his waist. In that moment, it was only the echo of that poor girl's screams that kept her from responding violently to Ducis' handling. There was a roomful of women here, working and readying themselves for their husbands and consorts, that were vulnerable to Ducis' will, and he had already proven that he had no qualms about having an innocent punished for her actions.

"I guarantee you'll not find a better household in all the provinces than mine," he continued, his breath on her cheek. She turned away as much as she was able before he forced her chin around. "If all goes well on the morrow, I could be tempted to let you stay, to allow you to join me here. Your Colonel would understand. I would offer him a good price."

Teyla wrenched her face from his grasp, but his hands immediately pawed again at her waist. She had the distinct feeling the only thing halting his advances from going further was his belief of John's claim on her. Even weaponless, John was a sufficient threat to stay his hands, she thought with grim satisfaction.

"You would never want for anything. You could spend your days in this paradise with no worries or concerns to dampen your beauty. What say you? Will you consider my offer?"

Teyla stilled, and he took her silence for submission. His imperious grin widened to show his teeth. "You have my permission to speak, of course."

At her patience's end, Teyla ran her hands along the collar of his cumbersome purple robes. She drew him toward her. "I am flattered by your generous offer, Magistrate," she said, her voice soft and pleasing. Then she seized his tunic and twisted to the point it neared a chokehold. "But I am afraid I must decline. You see, I have seen cattle treated with more deference than you treat your women. Now remove your hands or I will remove them for you."

Ducis yanked himself from her, shocked at her audacity. Her heartbeat rang in her ears for the space of an infinitesimal moment as she waited for him to call Spartacus forward and the consequences of her rash act to come crashing down.

She wasn't prepared for him to strike her.

Ducis backhanded her across the face, his heavy jeweled ring coming down hard. Blindsided, Teyla's vision exploded in a blazing white burst.

"Your Colonel has indulged you too much. He will thank me for reminding you of your manners." Ducis wiped his hand off on his robes as if he had just handled something filthy. "I hope you enjoy the remainder of your evening, Teyla. And I would see you well rested come the sunrise."

He left her with that final instruction—or warning, she was not certain which. Her cheek throbbed and Teyla tasted blood.

The next several minutes passed in a blur. She was led to a chair, and Grey One and Whistler seemed to be all over her. Something bulky and cold was pressed to her face and a cloth dabbed at her lips to soak up the small amount of blood seeping out from her mouth. A searching pass of her tongue confirmed a cut on the inner lining of her cheek, likely caused by her own teeth as she was struck. When her cheek finally stopped burning, they picked at her hair and clothing again to make sure everything was put back in its place, while Spartacus and Aelius waited over her.

"There now. That is not so bad," Grey One said softly as she dusted Teyla's cheek with a flesh tone powder, a hint of emotion in her voice for the first time. Almost motherly. "Your master will hardly notice."

Teyla nodded gratefully. The last thing she wanted to do was add to John's worries.

"Next time, do not be so foolish," the old woman whispered.

"Enough," Spartacus said impatiently. His rough voice carried through the room like rolling thunder. Scowling, he paced forward and cast an exploratory glance over her face. "There's nothing there worth all this fuss. You lot get back to your duties." He ignored the scattering servants and gracelessly hauled Teyla to her feet by her upper arm. "Can you stay on your feet, woman, or are you feeling faint in all the excitement?"

"I assure you I am perfectly well," she said, jerking free of his grasp. Was he was mocking her? If her outburst had proven anything, it was that she was not the fragile sort. More likely, he only wanted to make sure she would be able to remain upright long enough for him to escort her back to her friends.

His attention had gone to his young companion, whose own gaze had wandered to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired girl again. Oddly, the corner of Spartacus' mouth crept upward. A mysterious gleam capered within his dusky eyes as he looked at Teyla and took her upper arm in hand once more.

"We shall see," he said in a coarse undertone. Striding away with Teyla, he called behind him. "Come along, boy."

Aelius obediently fell into step behind them.

* * *

><p>On the journey back, Spartacus did not release her. His huge hand stayed firmly wrapped around her arm, just above the elbow. To any passerby it would appear she was being dragged through the manse like a ill-mannered dog back to her master, except that Spartacus was in no hurry. Despite his apparent readiness to be rid of her, he set a leisurely, almost tentative pace. A few times she caught him looking at her out of the corner of his eye and Teyla grew increasingly wary of him as they went.<p>

Something was not right here and it was more than her unexpected descent into slavery.

The first time she had been led through the house, Teyla had tried to commit as much of the layout to memory as she could. Now on her third trek via this same route, she had grown quite familiar with it. From the ladies' pavilion to the large chamber where John, Ronon, and Rodney were located, it was approximately a ten minute walk, beginning in a separate wing of the manse and traveling through an open courtyard to the main section of the house, then through several more corridors to the massive archway leading to her teammates. Several works of art, pieces of sculpture, and embellished tapestries helped to make identifying the individual hallways easier, and once Teyla passed the portrait of a man hunched over a table deep in thought, she knew they had come just over halfway.

"You look pale, woman," Spartacus said suddenly, breaking his stolid silence. "It seems you have overestimated yourself."

Teyla peered up at him, perplexed. Her cheek ached, but she felt fine otherwise. She was about to tell him as much when he gave her a stern warning glance.

"Boy, return to the pavilion and fetch the Magistrate's prize a glass of wine before she passes out," he said coldly.

Aelius stammered in surprise. "But … I am not permitted …"

Spartacus finally let go of Teyla's arm and rounded on him, an unequivocal threat in his body language. "Do as you're bid, boy," he said. "Go."

Aelius plainly reconsidered his position, because seconds later he darted back the way they had just come. The instant he was out of sight, Spartacus spun around and his rough hands were on her again. With little care, he led her to the darkened corner of a nearby atrium and shoved her down on a stone bench. "Here, woman. Sit. Rest."

Teyla rubbed absently at her arm and followed his movements with healthy mistrust as he surveyed the surrounding area, apparently making certain they were alone. "What do you wa—"

"Quiet," he said.

He cast one more glance behind him. Another moment passed before the slight dip of his tense shoulders implied he was satisfied. He finally turned his full attention to her, his expression indecipherable. "We do not have much time, so if you wish to hear what I have to say, I advise you to keep your mouth shut and listen." He paused only an instant. "The Magistrate is aware your master and his associates plan to escape with you if they can. If your Colonel hopes to convince him to release your weapons, he will be greatly disappointed."

Teyla gaped. Her team had been very careful when discussing their options not to be overheard. "How did you …"

His teeth clenched, visibly annoyed. He did, however, answer.

"The boy," he said, indicating with his head in the direction Aelius had gone. "He has his uses, and if Aelius wishes his sister's continued good health and situation, he will do his best to bring Ducis word of every utterance from your people's lips."

Suddenly Aelius' notice of the dark-haired girl in the pavilion made sense.

"If she does well here, that girl might one day make a sweet wife to a tradesman or the like," Spartacus said. "But if the magistrate is less than pleased with Aelius' findings of you and your companions, he'll see that the only thing that girl has left to offer the world is what's between her legs."

For a moment, Teyla was stunned into silence.

"She's nothing special, that girl," he said quietly, "but the boy seems fond of her. He'll do as he's directed and he will do it well. You had best tread carefully from now on. Ducis has no intention of letting you leave. He will kill your people if he must."

Gathering her wits, Teyla nodded. She felt contempt for his low opinion of the little girl, but she also couldn't help but wonder if he had sent Aelius back to the pavilion for another reason besides a mere glass of wine, when he might just as easily have sent him on ahead to the kitchens.

No. Teyla found it hard to imagine Spartacus was capable of that sort of sentiment.

"This creature you face on the morrow is no ordinary beast," he said. "I've hunted animals. This is neither beast nor man. It possesses the strength of dozen bulls. Its hide is thick and covered in an armored shell tougher than any material I've ever seen. It is unpredictable and it is cunning. If you expect to live to see another sunset, you must know what you face."

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. With her friends' lives at stake, she could not keep silent.

Again he made his disapproval felt, but he yielded. For expediency's sake, it was the wiser choice. "The Beast has been marauding our forests for generations, leaving countless dead in its wake when we're unfortunate enough to cross its path. Ducis tells our people he intends to kill it. He is lying. He's had builders fortifying a holding area beneath the Games Arena to cage the animal."

"He does all this to make it a pet?" Teyla asked, incredulous. If all Spartacus said was true, not even Ducis would be foolish enough to attempt such a thing for so lowly a gain.

An ugly smirk pulled at his lips. "The Beast under his control would be a powerful symbol of strength for his rivals here and in the bay cities. A weapon he could use against them, if necessary. I cannot allow that to happen."

"Why? What does he intend to do?"

Precious seconds ticking away, he hurriedly glanced toward the empty corridor again before he responded. "When our forebears first came to this world, it was a world of monsters. All but the Beast were hunted down or have long since perished in the passage of years. The Beast remains." He stopped, his eyes narrowed, and blackness colored his saturnine features. "It steals our years away like the daemons who appear from the sky. Its dead are left as shriveled husks. If the Magistrate desires to control it, then it must be fed or perish. So long as it proves useful, Ducis will _not_ permit it to perish."

He finished with such grit and certainty in his voice, a shiver ran down Teyla's spine. Surely, Ducis wouldn't . His own people?

"It _must_ be destroyed," he said. "I have seen your weapons. We have nothing to match them."

Teyla's eyes wandered to his sword belt and the black cylinder there. "What of those?" she asked boldly. A single touch to the back of Ducis' unfortunate example and the thing had latched on like a spider. Black tendrils had come from somewhere within it, closed around her and then lit up with a prolonged and intense pulse of blue energy directly to the spine. The woman hadn't stood a chance.

He looked down and grunted dismissively. "A tool useful for correcting livestock. They are no match for the Beast or the Ancestors would never have abandoned this place. They do no lasting damage and cannot penetrate the creature's outer armor enough to bring it to heel."

No lasting damage, Teyla thought bitterly. For the woman she'd seen so horribly abused earlier the temporary damage done had been more than enough.

But while Teyla railed at the idea of her or any woman at all being referred to as livestock, she didn't quite believe he could be as callous as he sounded. If that was the case, then why bother allowing Aelius a few extra moments alone with his sister? Why come to a lowly woman when he could have spoken to John directly? Of course, both those choices could be explained away by more practical reasons. If Aelius was preoccupied by his sister, it stood to reason his return might be delayed a little longer, buying them more time to speak. And, if she and John were indeed being spied upon as he had said, a face to face conversation of this nature between Spartacus and John would undoubtedly end badly for everyone. Teyla didn't know what to think.

She shook her head. "We do not have our weapons."

"It is many hours until dawn. Circumstances can change, provided your master is willing to help," he said quickly. The faint sound of footsteps could be heard echoing in the corridor.

"I will speak with him," she said.

He scowled. "Your assurances mean little to me, woman."

Indignant, Teyla jumped to her feet. She was weary of playing the invalid. "My _name_ is Teyla Emmagan."

He stepped nearer and brought his face inches from hers. "And if you were mine I might care. Will your master listen to you?"

Teyla hesitated, still debating whether she could trust anything he said. In the end, she chose to heed her instincts. "I believe he will."

He smiled then, bitter and dry but tinged with relief. "Then I advise you to sit back down, drink your wine thankfully, and mind yourself."

Teyla reluctantly obeyed and retook her place on the cold stone bench, while Spartacus placed an acceptable amount of distance between them, appropriate to a slave and her guard.

With Aelius only moments away, his gravel laden voice reached out to her one last time, quiet and careful. "Enjoy your lover tonight, Teyla Emmagan. Put on a good show for the boy and tell your master what I have said. Do not sleep too soundly. I will try to come to you again."

* * *

><p>The last vestiges of the sun had passed beyond the horizon while she had been gone. Candles by the hundreds and bright, healthy flames from the firepit central to the communal space lit the room in a warm red-orange glow. In a jovial mood, a large group had congregated around the fire, drinking wine, talking and laughing uproariously, while others did the same in smaller numbers all over the chamber. Some had already taken to their beds with their companions, the curtains around their cubiles drawn, but the soft cast of their shadows framed them through the translucent layers of material.<p>

As Teyla drew near to their assigned cubile, she spotted John there waiting for her. He was alone and couched on top of the narrow bed in an ostensibly relaxed pose, except for the incessant drumming of his fingers against the soft pallet that served as their mattress. As soon as he saw her, he jumped to his feet and met her halfway.

"I was starting to wonder where you were," John said, casting a mindful glance at Aelius and Spartacus, who had allowed the boy to pass ahead of him.

Aelius bowed deeply. "My apologies for the delay, Primus. I hope you were not too inconvenienced."

John frowned. Formality often made him uncomfortable. "First of all, it's Colonel. And as long as everything's okay, I …"

His eyes suddenly did a double take on Teyla's face. Her initial instinct was to turn away so he wouldn't see, but it was obviously too late for that. Grey One and Whistler had done all they could to eliminate the risk of swelling and cover any potential bruising, but Ducis' ring had undoubtedly left a mark.

"Teyla, what happened?" His voice lowered to a dangerous pitch, anger swiftly settling in. "Did they hurt you?"

Teyla had barely opened her mouth to speak when Aelius cut in. "Your consort was honored by a visit from the Magistrate himself. They …" he trailed off pitifully, "spoke."

"He hit you?" John asked her, dissatisfied with Aelius' explanation.

With Spartacus' watchful gaze at her back and the presence of Aelius - and who knew how many more spies - in their midst, Teyla felt obliged to handle the situation diplomatically. She had to play her part, no matter how much she wished to break Ducis' neck. "He gave me permission to speak and did not like what I had to say," she said with a tight smile. "It is nothing you need to concern yourself with, my dearest."

John wasn't swayed. He glared over her shoulder to where Spartacus stood. "Where is he?"

"The Magistrate has retired to his chambers for the remainder of the evening," the soldier said.

"John," Teyla murmured, keeping up her false appearance. She reached out to brush his arm. "You do not need to do this. I have dealt with much worse."

"You are _not_ one of his slaves, Teyla. He shouldn't have touched you," he hissed. He leaned in close, taking her waist in his hands as a lover would, his breath hot on her skin. His presence was so familiar and honest, upset though he was, and she curved around him in kind. This was a touch she welcomed.

He whispered in her ear. "I promised I wouldn't let him hurt you."

"Now is not the time," she said almost inaudibly. "You must trust me. If you confront Ducis right now, all our lives may be in jeopardy."

He studied her carefully. She felt his desire to defend her raging, almost alive beneath his skin.

"Please, John. There will be another time," she whispered.

"I need to know what's going on, Teyla."

She nodded. "You will."

Slowly, he pulled back. Composing himself was a separate ordeal, but he managed it quickly enough.

"Is all in order, Prim … Colonel?" Given Aelius' puerile appearance, it was difficult for Teyla to conceive of him as a spy. He looked positively thrilled that John was no longer angry with him. But Teyla knew quite well that, given proper motivation, people were capable of anything. "Can I get you anything to make you more comfortable?"

"A Colt M19 and a pepperoni pizza would be nice," John said with a sour tone.

"I am sorry, Colonel, I do not know what …"

"Just go." John's dismissal was terse and final. "Teyla and I would like to be alone."

Aelius bowed again. "Of course. Pleasant evening."

Spartacus took his leave without so much as backward glance. Smart, Teyla thought. There were too many people here. Aelius' departure was much more sedate. Teyla watched him cautiously while John remained, waiting for her to follow him inside.

"Where are Rodney and Ronon?" she asked. It was a harmless question that anyone listening in would likely already know the answer to.

"One of Ducis' councilors offered to show us the bathhouse," John said. "They'll probably be there for a few hours, then head to bed."

Teyla tipped her chin to acknowledge him as Aelius finally disappeared from her view. If she was not very much mistaken, he would find his way back the second he knew she was no longer watching him. She turned toward John, thinking she should also search around their cubile for signs of a hidden compartment built in the walls where someone could listen in on their conversations or watch them from a safe vantage point. Still, even if she found nothing, she knew she could not rely on their privacy. These people were making use of Ancient technology and there was no way to know what kinds of instruments they had at their disposal.

Disheartened at the prospect, Teyla finally turned. "Why did you not go with them?"

"I wanted to be here when you got back," he said, observing her with molten steel in his gaze. "For some reason I was worried."

A slight smile penetrated her aloof facade. "Well, I am here now and you can see that you have nothing to worry about."

He didn't find much humor in her comment. Truth be told, neither did she. It had been a very long day.

They went inside and Teyla gathered the drapes until they were closed. John stood coolly in front of the bed. As Teyla took in a cursory sweep of the space, she noticed a white tunic in a careless wad atop the sheets.

"What is that?" she asked.

As she began searching for obvious places someone could be listening in, John shot a glance at the tunic.

"Well …" Surprisingly flustered, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair and looked awkwardly around. "It turns out that, um … getting 'prepared for the night' is a little more involved for the women than it is for the men. Seems that the men - generally speaking - don't wear … anything."

Teyla tried not to smile, but it proved too great a challenge. Under ordinary circumstances, John was a singularly handsome man. When he was embarrassed, he was positively adorable.

"I asked them what they wear when it's cold out and they brought me this. Then I picked it up," he said. "I know they say 'When in Rome' and all that, but in this case I'll feel more comfortable if I just sleep in my uniform. It's probably best, considering we're supposed to be …"

Understanding his meaning, Teyla nodded. It was thoughtful of him to consider her feelings about their sleeping arrangements and, in a larger sense, their need to pretend they were more than simply good friends.

At that, an abiding sense of sadness crawled up from somewhere deep down and wrapped around Teyla's heart, threatening to crush it. This night was going to be so much harder than she had previously thought.

As if he could sense the altering mood in the air, John abandoned his awkward stance and moved toward her. "Teyla, we need to talk," he said, his hazel eyes glistening as they caught the warm candlelight.

With a stilted nod, she mutely agreed.

Unsure of what else she could do, she closed the remaining distance between them, trying to relax, letting her hips sway a little, putting on a good show as Spartacus had said. She placed her hands on his chest, hesitantly at first in fear of his reaction and then she reminded herself that it was John she was with and no other. A man she trusted above anyone else, a man who was always there when she needed him. The best man she had ever known.

She felt a timid shudder roll beneath her fingertips as he inhaled deeply at her touch. Hoping he would understand, she looked pleadingly up into his eyes. "Indeed we do, my dearest."

Teyla's heart seemed to stop as what she had said began to sink in. It beat again little by little as John started to look around their small quarters with new eyes, suspicious now, for why else would she ever call him "my dearest" if they were truly alone? And why did that thought pain her far more than the ache that remained in her cheek?

"There are things I have to tell you," she said softly, willing him to discern fiction from reality. "But all that can wait. I have been cared for; it is my duty to see that you are as well."

Teyla's hands slipped to the ties of her robe and gently tugged. She shrugged it from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, revealing the nightgown beneath for the first time. The white silk gown was so light it practically floated above her skin. It skimmed the surface teasing her nerves like a hint of all the caresses to come, brushing her shoulders and hips, stroking the length of her legs but little else. Lined by ornate embroidered filagree, the neckline of the exquisite piece plunged down into a deep vee. It ran downward, tempting him with a partial view of her breasts, past the slope of her chest and beyond the plain of her stomach to end just above the waist. Her back was similarly exposed.

His eyes wide, John seemed rooted to the ground. With a wistful smile and an ache in her chest, Teyla hoped that meant he at least liked what he saw.

She reached out to him once more, this time allowing her fingers the chance to explore. With the cotton of his black shirt between them, she skimmed the line of his waist and followed his ribs in a gradual journey upward. The feel of the taut muscles beneath her touch sent a rush of heat to her core.

"Teyla …" he murmured, his voice having taken on a new quality. It was richer, deeper, raw.

With subtle movements, she encouraged him to hold her and banded her arms around the masculine curve of his neck. It would have been so easy to get lost in his face, to study and admire it until the days no longer mattered and the nights seemed endless. She had never seen a man so beautiful, so mesmerizing. A part of her felt the act drifting away, the danger they were in becoming less and less important than the man in front of her.

She had to tell him. She had to find a way to relate everything Spartacus had said, that there might be a way to get their weapons back, but all of that faded into the background as she tenderly drew circles in the cluster of fine dark hair at the back of his neck. How long had she wondered what this would feel like? Would she ever know this intoxicating feeling again?

She said softly, "Knowing what I am to face in the morning, John, I would not spend our night talking of things that may no longer matter."

His eyes had gone dark, black orbs in the shine of the candlelight. "I won't let you go out there alone, Teyla."

"I know."

"Teyla," he murmured as he slowly leaned in, his gaze fixated on her mouth.

She caressed his cheek and whispered, "Shh. Just kiss me, John."

Then Teyla tasted his lips. The supple press of his mouth joined with hers and for a moment, just for a moment, she forgot that it was all pretend.


	4. Playing the Part

**.**

**Chapter 4 – Playing the Part**

**by: Kariesue**

**.**

The pressure of Teyla's mouth along with the sweet taste of her lips scrambled any thoughts that had been dwelling in John's mind. He'd wanted to kiss her for so long but the timing had never been right. She was his teammate after all.

His hands moved to her back to pull her closer and slid along her silky skin. The sensation caused sparks of desire to shoot through him, moving to places that had no right being alerted when he was near Teyla. He needed to get a grip on himself. But this was just too nice, too perfect. Too much like the dreams he had on too many nights.

He allowed his hands to roam up her back, feeling the lean muscles toned by hours of sparring and stretching. The skin under his fingertips, soft and supple, filled him with emotions he'd buried deeply. His breath rushed out shaky with desire. Teyla shivered and pleasure settled inside that he had caused that.

He eased back but only slightly, his arms still holding her tight. Maybe it would keep him from seeing how gorgeous she looked in this nightgown. The one that barely covered her top and clung to her hips and thighs in the nicest of ways.

He gazed at her face, her eyes barely open, hoping she wasn't upset by what he'd just done. But she'd asked him to kiss her, hadn't she?

Her eyes finally lifted and a dreamy smile made its way onto her exotic face. She was looking at him like ... man, like he'd always wanted her to look at him. The kiss, the smile and the bronzed skin exposed in the white filmy fabric all added up to ...

"Heaven."

A deep crimson stained her cheeks and John realized he'd said the word aloud. Shit! He hadn't meant to. She didn't seem upset, though, merely embarrassed.

He leaned in so his forehead was touching hers, like they'd done in the past. He always felt it was somewhat intimate, but now it wasn't intimate enough. He slid his lips closer to her ear and whispered, "I take it we're not really alone."

She shook her head slightly, her eyes showing regret. Was the regret that they weren't alone or that they needed to pretend? 'Cause he knew the feelings he'd had when they'd kissed a second ago had been real on his part.

John reluctantly took one hand from her back to caress her cheek, the one that was starting to discolor. "Bastard. I should rip his heart out."

Teyla smiled, her eyes crinkling amused. Did she like him blood thirsty?

Her fingers curled through the hair at the back of his head. "I am fine, John, and I appreciate your concern. I do not believe there will be permanent damage." Her voice softened as she added, "I have much to tell you. But we will be expected to ... be with each other."

John nodded wishing they really could ... for the right reasons. Not because someone was spying on them. But he needed to figure out exactly who was seeing or hearing what. He gently moved Teyla to sit on the bed.

"Why don't you rest, Teyla, while I get myself ready for the night."

He picked up her robe from the floor and and placed it on the end of the bed then sat down to remove his boots and socks. As he did, he checked around attempting to see if there were any holes in their drapes. Teyla looked behind the bed, checking for infiltration from that direction. The curtains weren't opaque and allowed silhouettes to show through but they had a misty hue to them and blocked some of the light.

John stood and blew out the candles that were flickering inside their small space, leaving them in semi-darkness. And keeping anyone that was nearby from seeing exactly what they were doing. The fires from the large outside room still managed to penetrate and allowed him to see Teyla resting on her side on the bed.

He gave her a smile and turned away, tugging on the hem of his t-shirt. She had no idea how incredible she looked or that the top had slid aside to reveal even more of her chest. How was he ever going to get through this night? This bench was as narrow as his bed in Atlantis and it definitely wasn't any longer. His regular bed was already too short. He'd never get any rest in this one. Especially with Teyla tucked up against him. Maybe he should offer to sleep on the floor. He looked down at the cold marble and frowned.

A hand on his back made him turn around. Teyla was holding the sheet back for him to join her. He sat down but she shook her head, looking at his pants. Her mouth moved to his ear. "I am not confident we will not be checked on."

John undid his button and zipper and slid his fatigues off his legs then slipped under the covers in just his shorts. Those were staying on no matter how much he fantasized. His feet touched Teyla's and the intimacy of it had him sucking in his breath. But she looked as uncomfortable as he did. He didn't want her to be.

"Come over here, beautiful," he said loud enough for any eavesdroppers to hear then leaned back and drew her to rest on his shoulder. He stroked her hair and pressed his lips to her forehead until he felt her relax.

He stayed there a few minutes then turned on his side facing her, moving his face very close, her body pressing against his intimately. "Did Ducis do anything else to you?" He was almost afraid of the answer, but then saw the shadow cross her face and wondered if she'd be truthful. "Don't lie to me Teyla. Did he?"

Teyla's hands strayed to his chest, absentmindedly playing with his dog tags. Her eyes didn't meet his. "He is a man who likes to get his way. Aside from the one strike I was not harmed, though certainly I have had more respect given to my personal space and privacy."

John scowled, not liking what she implied. But right now he wasn't giving her a whole lot of personal space or privacy either. Her foot slipped in between his legs and he stiffened. Until he felt how cold it was.

"Your feet are freezing."

Teyla attempted to move them away but John caught them with his own feet and pulled them back. Teyla smiled timidly explaining, "They have been bare since I first awoke here and the stone floor is not warm."

John rubbed his feet around first one then the other until they were less like ice. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you, John." Her lips were so close he could touch them with his own without even moving. She lowered her voice even more. "We may have a friend here. The one you called Spartacus, he hinted he could help us get our weapons back."

Footsteps near their cubile had Teyla tensing, her eyes widening. John twisted, looming over her, his mouth lowering to touch hers. The sound of a soft cough then the curtain being pulled back had John whipping around, keeping Teyla behind him.

Aelius was standing there his eyes lowered. "Primus, uh, Colonel. I was informed you were chilled and wished another cover. I was merely bringing this to you." He held up a piece of soft, thick material and smiled.

John slid his legs out from under the sheets but kept part of it over where he still wore his shorts. Let the boy think he was covering his manhood. He glared at Aelius and held out his hand, taking what the young man held.

"I'd thank you, but you've interrupted something a lot more important than a blanket. And something that would keep me considerably warmer. You offered to get me anything I needed. Well, I need to be left alone. Do you understand? If anyone interrupts me again before the sun rises, I will personally find you and rip out your heart with my bare hands. Is that clear enough?"

The boy's eyes grew big and he nodded quickly then turned around to scurry away. John sighed and stood to pull the curtains closed again then turned around. His breath almost stopped when he saw Teyla. She was sitting up, the sheet clutched to her chest. But the top part of her nightgown wasn't on her and the sheet was only held between her breasts, the two gleaming mounds very much in his sight.

Teyla must have seen his expression because she drew the sheet higher, her smile forced. "He would expect me to be this way." She was about to say more but paused and listened intently.

John slid back in the bed as Teyla dropped the sheet and attempted to pull up the sides of her gown that had twisted in her haste to get them down. He knew he'd regret it but he gave her a hand, his own hands shaky as they skimmed over her shoulders and back. He closed his eyes but the sight of the dusky nipples, a shade darker and puckered, remained. Guh! He was so not going to make it through this night.

He shook the blanket out over them then reclined against the pillow, face to face once again. Teyla moved her lips to touch John's cheek as she whispered, "I am sorry if I embarrassed you, John. Aelius brings news of everything we do back to Ducis. It would not do for the magistrate to think we are not together. He has already offered to let me stay here with him as part of his household. He would pay you a handsome price, of course."

John was relieved when he heard Teyla's impish tone on the last sentence. It was how they were on Atlantis and it was the way he liked her best.

John narrowed his eyes. "A handsome price? How much?"

Teyla's mouth opened in shock then she pursed her lips when she saw his eyes waggle. She sat up and leaned over him, a hand on each side of his head, her eyes almost glowing in the dim light. "It would never be enough, admit it."

Her voice was a tiny bit louder now, just loud enough for spying ears though she had added a seductive tone to it. "You could not live without me, John. I am too good to you."

This playful, sexy side of Teyla was really getting to him, especially as she leaned over, her top swaying dangerously away from her breasts. The little peeks he was getting were sending his libido skyrocketing and causing an ache below his mid section.

"Oh, yes you are, Teyla," he groaned back, trying to sound aroused. It wasn't too much of a stretch. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"The question is what will you do _with_ me right now?" Teyla's eyes twinkled in the dim light. "I have been pampered and prepared especially for your pleasure. Are you pleased?"

John pushed himself up, coming into closer contact to Teyla's sweet body. Her hands moved to his shoulders and stroked along them, kneading the muscles. It would have been relaxing if Teyla hadn't been practically naked and almost sitting in his lap.

John touched his forehead to hers again and closed his eyes. Some floral scent wafted off her skin and rose to tickle his nose. He opened his eyes and eased back, taking in the sight before him. Her skin gleamed and teased as it never had before, even in her sparring outfit.

"Pleased, oh, most definitely pleased. You smell amazing."

"I am glad you approve. I am sure the soaps and oils that were rubbed into my skin are of the highest quality. Ducis would have it no other way."

Heat rose inside at that name and what Teyla had implied earlier. "He wasn't the one who ..."

"No," Teyla quickly said. "There are women who see to that task, though Ducis has free rein to come and go as he pleases."

John felt his jaw tighten but knew there was nothing he could do about it right now. But he could get Teyla back to her playful mood. He threw her a crooked smile. "Well, I gotta say you clean up real nice."

Teyla rolled her eyes, a grin escaping from her painted lips. She rubbed her knuckles over John's face, scraping along his stubble. "Hmm, I wonder if the same is true of you."

John held her hand in place and smirked. "Maybe I should have gone with Ronon and Rodney. Am I that bad?"

He'd taken a shower before they left on their mission and they hadn't really done anything strenuous aside from their stroll through the hillside, and that had been at a leisurely pace. He hoped he wasn't offending Teyla. The smile on her face made him think he wasn't.

Teyla ran her nose over his shoulder up to his neck and breathed in deeply. "You are fine. You smell as a man should."

"Well, good." He paused wondering what they should do now. He knew what was expected but wasn't sure exactly what Teyla expected. "So, uh, these ladies who helped you get ready, did they have any ... suggestions on how you might give me ... pleasure?" Translation: Had they given her any more information about this place?

Teyla glared at him, her smile as crooked as his. "Not really," she answered, her expression telling John they hadn't been helpful in that manner. "I was thinking perhaps we could do as they did in that movie we saw last week. The one with Harry and Sally and how they met. Their interaction was ... intriguing."

John thought of the movie she was talking about and knew she meant the diner scene where Meg Ryan as Sally faked a … reaction. God, he couldn't even think the word. Not around Teyla. But that suggestion was better than actually doing it. Well, okay he wouldn't mind doing it but this wasn't the right situation.

John raised his eyebrow. "You think you can do that as well as Sally?"

An impish expression blossomed on Teyla's face. "Oh, I believe I could be quite good. However, you need to be involved as well."

"By all means, you start and I'll join in when the moment hits."

Teyla's lips twisted and her eyes gleamed. She adjusted so she was straddling John's thighs and he already thought he wouldn't need to fake anything if she moved any closer. The inside of her thighs brushing against his bare skin aroused him more than he already was. Her hands continued to caress his shoulders then lowered to play in the hair on his chest. Her breath picked up and came out in short gasps as her shoulders and torso began to undulate.

She pressed her lips to his cheek then moved them to just below his ear. "Ducis does not wish to kill the Beast."

John tilted his head to look at her. She nodded and continued with her mouth on his throat and neck. He appreciated the information but wasn't sure he'd remember anything she said. His hands were stroking the silky skin on her back and loving every second.

"He plans to keep it and use it as a weapon. He has men working on a cage as we speak." Her body had continued its dance as she kissed his neck and now she hummed as if in pleasure.

Her head fell back as tiny whimpers escaped from her throat and her torso shimmied. It was his own private lap dance and he couldn't really enjoy it. He was holding onto every ounce of control he had not to press his tongue to her nipples that were poking through the light fabric. He had to remind himself to listen to what she was saying and process it.

Laughter erupted from outside in the central room and brought him back to the fact they weren't alone. This was a show and if it wasn't convincing, it could mean all sorts of terrible things. He moved his hands to Teyla's waist and allowed his quickened breathing to be louder. Other cries of pleasure echoed through the large chamber and John hoped the occupants were so used to this that what he and Teyla were doing wouldn't even be noticed. However if they didn't do it, it would definitely be noticed. Regardless of his threat to the boy, he had no doubts the young man was hovering nearby.

Teyla's moans grew in intensity and her hips got in on the action. He was definitely going to lose it, and soon. He could feel his erection growing and hoped junior didn't get so big he poked his head out of his shorts. That would be a little hard to explain. And hard was the word to describe exactly how he felt.

"This beast," Teyla whispered again into his ear, bringing him back to the reason they were here. John pressed his lips to Teyla's neck this time. "He is not like any creature we have come across."

"Oh ... oh," Teyla groaned and John knew exactly how she felt. But she was faking it, right? Her face was washed in ecstasy and John had to admit it looked real.

As her body gyrated, she slipped closer, her intimate part coming in direct contact with his stiff arousal and John nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Gah!" The gasp erupted from his mouth before he could stop it but Teyla barely registered it. She was very involved in her Sally impersonation. And she'd been right. She was quite good.

"The Beast is as strong as a dozen bulls, has skin like armor and feeds like a _Wraith_." John saw the fear on her face as she said this. His brave Teyla was scared. Something he hadn't seen before.

"John ..."

Her little cry of terror hit him right in the gut. He pulled her tighter to him and plunged his fingers into her hair. "I will do everything I can to keep you safe. You have to believe me. I'd give my life for you, Teyla. You know that."

She nodded and kissed his forehead but not before he saw the moisture that had welled up in her eyes. He held her even closer, if that was possible, trying to help her _feel_ his support. _Feel_ how much he would do for her. Making her one with him. Together. They would face this together.

John's hands framed Teyla's beautiful face and gazed at her intently. Could she see how much he cared for her? See his own fear and determination to keep her safe? Her eyes held his, studying his face, looking for something there. What? He leaned his head toward her and touched his lips gently to hers. He didn't rush like their earlier kiss. He kept this one soft and sweet though it still held immediacy.

"Teyla." Her name came out as if on a breeze and she gazed back at him with the same look of fond adoration that must be showing on his own face. His mouth caressed hers and his tongue poked out to tenderly skim her bottom lip. Her mouth opened for him and he plunged inside, feeling anguish and desperation pour from her body.

"John." The cry was wrenched from her mouth as she delved deeper into the kiss, and kept up the rhythmic gyrations of her hips. She clasped him tightly as if she didn't trust him not to leave.

The layer of fabric between them was inconsequential and the friction was growing. His hands held tight as Teyla rocked back and forth and they slid higher on her ribs. He hadn't meant for them to but she was moving so much it had just happened. And now he didn't want to move them back. His thumbs felt the underside of her breasts and longed to cup and caress.

Teyla's short, throaty breaths were making him unhinged. She was really good at this or ...

Her arms grabbed his head and pulled it to her chest, her fingers clenching in his hair. Her head was thrown back as her hips bucked forcefully. Her cries grew louder, filled with passion. He wrapped his own arms tighter around her, his tongue slipping out to steal a taste of her overheated skin. Nectar. Ambrosia. Whatever it was, it was delicious and addictive. He wanted more.

Teyla let out a deep cry as her body shuddered and trembled. Her movements caused her breast, now exposed by the frenzy, to shift right into his open mouth. All control was shot as he licked the stiff peak with his tongue then sucked it into his mouth. Teyla's groans escalated and he felt himself tottering on the edge of the precipice along with her. Was she really there? Or just the best damn actress he'd ever encountered?

Her shivers and the hands gripping his hair, along with her nipple playing with his tongue and her hips grinding against his arousal, sent him on his own completion. He held her tight as his tremors subsided, thankful he'd kept his shorts on. It'd be an even bigger mess otherwise.

Teyla's body was now draped over him, boneless, her head resting on his shoulder. He had no clue what he should do. How this scene should play out after what they'd just done.

The threads of a conversation filtered in and he realized the voices belonged to Ronon and Rodney.

"Holy crap, isn't that the cubby thing Sheppard and Teyla are in? Did you just hear that? They're ..."

"Shut up, McKay," Ronon growled low. "It's none of our business."

Teyla raised her head, a horror filled expression crossing her face. John felt dread start to crawl through him, then for some reason a chuckle started in his throat. He made a face at Teyla and she stifled a laugh as well.

"Oh, Sally, you are amazing. I hope you know that."

Teyla took the bait and responded, "As are you, Harry. I could not ask for better."

"Harry? Sally? What ...?" McKay sounded confused.

John saw Ronon's shadow push McKay forward as he said, "I'll explain later. Just get in your bed and go to sleep. You've had too much of that wine."

"Wine, yeah, that was good wine. At least it wasn't as strong as that stuff Teyla's people make."

Their voices trailed off and John knew they had gone into their own cubiles.

"Perhaps we should get some sleep as well, John," Teyla suggested, her voice soft in his ear. "We will be very busy come morning."

She was still sitting in his lap. He nodded and rolled toward the side of the bed, grabbing the tunic he'd been given earlier. He quickly used it to clean himself up, hoping Teyla didn't notice. When he turned around she was conveniently fluffing the pillow. God, she was wonderful.

He settled on the bed facing her and pulled her close. They could hardly sleep side by side on their backs, the bed was too narrow. But the sweet smell of her and the memory of how she'd cried out in pleasure had him getting hard again. She must have felt it against her belly because she looked up questioningly at him.

Man, he couldn't talk about this with her. Not now. Maybe never. She was his teammate. He closed his eyes then opened them again, hoping he looked pitiful.

"Teyla. Just. Don't. Say. Anything. Please."

She remained quiet for a moment then touched her lips to his. "Thank you, John. For being here with me."

He moved to his back pulling her to rest on his chest and shoulder, his right arm around her, protective, his left touching her bruised cheek. "I won't leave you, Teyla. I'm right here. Always."

He felt her body relax and his responded in kind. He didn't know how that was possible after what they'd just done but even with the feelings he'd kept hidden from her for so long, she still made him feel absolutely comfortable. It was why he cared for her so much.

Cared for her? He had to admit he did. And a lot more than he was supposed to. Maybe after this mission he might find the courage to talk to her about it. If she didn't want to just forget it had ever happened. That was always a possibility too. She snuggled closer and curled into him, her hand seeking out his dog tags again. Okay, maybe she wouldn't just want to forget it happened. He could only hope.

He actually dozed for a while, not quite sure how long but something alerted him a little later and he opened his eyes and listened carefully. The fires in the outer room had dimmed, but he still managed to see a silhouette against their curtains, just standing as if waiting for something. He could tell by the height and shape of the fancy robes that it was Ducis. Checking up on them?

He remembered what Teyla had said about the magistrate wanting her for his household and jealousy churned his blood. But so did fear. The man could easily force his way into having Teyla, but something told him no matter how much of a scum he was, he wouldn't infringe on another man's woman.

He hoped Teyla wouldn't wake up as he skimmed the straps of her gown off her shoulders and pushed them below the sheets. He adjusted himself so Ducis wouldn't see anything more than her back if he looked in. And sure enough within seconds the curtain parted slightly and the magistrate's gleaming eyes searched the darkness for them.

John pretended sleep, but he wanted the man to know Teyla was his, no question. He nuzzled his face in her hair and caressed her back and lower in a proprietary way. Teyla responded with a sigh and her hand roamed over his chest then slipped up around his neck in her own mark of ownership. The curtain eased closed again and John exhaled. Maybe they could finally get some rest.

The outer room was still and empty and John knew he should raise Teyla's gown back to its former position. He didn't though. In his mind he convinced himself it was in case anyone else decided to peek in on them. As his hands stroked and caressed the curves of Teyla's back, he knew that wasn't the real reason.


	5. A Slave's Fate

**Author's Note****: **This chapter has been broken into two parts because of length, but not to worry. You won't have to wait until next week to get the second part. I'll be posting it later today. It's a two-fer Saturday! Yay! You'll also notice this chapter offers you something a little different. Its relevance to the story will be made clear by the end of the second part, but I sincerely hope you enjoy the entire thing for what it is. I do. ;-)

Warnings: elements of slavery, abuse, dubcon, and good old fashioned smut.

**.**

**Chapter 5 – A Slave's Fate**

**by: firedew**

**.**

xo

Elsewhere, deep into the night, a feminine hand sleepily reached across the bed to find the other side cold. Its owner stirred, and with bleary eyes Marinel lifted her head. She rolled onto her elbow and peered around the bedchamber. Still seeing no one, she sat up.

Marinel was no stranger to sleeping alone as her husband was often away. But he was home tonight. He had come in quite late this evening and said little, which was nothing unusual. He was a man of few words and generally reserved them for when something needed to be said. He'd told her that visitors had come through the Ancestral Ring to help them finally be rid of the Beast and, with his brow furrowed deep in thought, had settled into a glass of wine when Marinel had retired for the night. Early.

Her long raven hair tumbled over her shoulders as she clumsily untangled herself from the blankets and reached for her robe. She winced as she rose from the bed. The babe was still waking several times a night and, judging from the tenderness of her breasts, would need to be nursed again soon.

She stoked the coals that smoldered in the brazier and lit a candle from the embers. Not hearing any cries yet from the nursery across the landing, she decided to walk downstairs and check on her husband. He'd likely fallen asleep in his chair. His days were long and often physically taxing; it would not be the first time he'd done so. If that was the case, she knew he would grumble when she tried to wake him. He might even growl and tell her harshly to leave him be, but she wouldn't allow him to spend the night doubled over in a crumpled heap when he had their bed upstairs. He needed his rest, and it was her duty to see that his needs were met.

It had been so since the day he came into her life.

* * *

><p>Marinel grew up three days ride from Minoa Province in Corsipha, one of two port cities situated on the west bank of Viridis Bay, where the waters shone green under the noonday sun. As the daughter of a shipwright, she spent most of her youth near the shore. When she was small, while fisherman trolled the bay and her father's builders toiled along the docks, she used to imagine the bottom was filled with emeralds. She had never seen a real one. She never would.<p>

Her father had hoped to get her a position as a serving girl in one of the larger households, to learn what was expected of her and to free him of the cost of feeding her. To him the burden of two daughters was enough. A third was a trial. His thought was that some politician's son or an up-and-coming tradesman might notice her when she had grown into herself and make him a generous offer for her. But it hadn't worked out that way. Those positions were coveted and quickly taken by families with more friends than her father had.

Marinel stayed under her father's roof and learned at her mother's skirts how to cook and sew, how to manage the affairs of a household, and most importantly to never to speak unless spoken to and never to look a man in the eye unless he asked it of her. A man was yoked with the responsibility of carrying out the duties of his profession and providing for his family. A woman had only to be grateful and to show her gratitude by always striving to ease his burden. To do otherwise was shameful, and any woman that selfish deserved what she was given.

Too often Marinel lie awake at night with her blanket bunched tight around her, trembling and biting her lip until it bled to the sound of her father shouting and her mother's pleading sobs and cries of pain. Her mother had come down in the mornings with livid purple bruises on her face and arms.

"I forgot my place," she always said with a broken smile when Marinel shakily asked what she had done. "He only did as he should." Then her mother would lightly finger a strand of her hair and tuck it behind her ear. "You'll remember better than me, my girl. Won't you?"

Frightened, Marinel would only nod and vow to herself over and over that she would.

As Marinel grew, her father's hopes for a lucrative price for her dwindled. She was pretty – they all told her she was pretty – but her cheekbones weren't high enough for her to be considered a true beauty and she was always a trifle too thin, making it appear that she wasn't capable of hard work. By the time she was seventeen, her father had grown contented with the idea of selling her to the yellow-toothed fellow he bought his lumber from for a lower rate on his materials. Then, one day, she toted their family's portion of the day's catch home to cook for supper. Thinking she was alone, she was humming quietly to herself when a stranger rode past.

She hadn't known his name at the time, only that he was soldier leading a supply caravan from Minoa. He was bigger than man any she'd ever seen up close with olive skin and eyes so dark they seemed to absorb the light. His attention drifted her way and then suddenly fixed on her in an intimidating stare. Scared, she scurried home with him tailing her the rest of the way. On a whim, it seemed, the soldier made her father an offer and her father readily accepted.

Protector Dexcian Navis was his name. A renowned warrior recently honored for his loyalty and valor in crushing the Freygan Rebellion, her new master and the man she was to please or face the consequences. Her father and mother saw her off as he threw her and the few items she carried with her onto the back of his horse, fresh bruises on her mother's face there to remind her of what would happen if she ever forgot herself with this man.

He climbed on behind her and encircled her waist with one massive arm. "Let us go, woman," was all he said. He cued his horse to a rolling gallop and Marinel didn't have the courage to look back.

He took her into his bed that very night at a nearby inn. Though he handled her gently and whispered calming words in her ears, Marinel just sealed her eyes shut and tried not to let him see when it hurt.

Weighed down with fresh fish, sea salt, fabrics, and countless other items bought in trade, the supply caravan moved slowly inland and took several days to reach Minoa. On the way, her new master explained in his brooding manner what he expected from her. Along with his newly garnered rank, the Magistrate had awarded him a house (nothing nearly so grand as the great manse the Magistrate himself lived in, but comfortable and one to be envied) with a handful of servants he had neither the time nor the inclination to manage. She was to take charge and see that the mundane details of running a household never came to his attention. Marinel felt a vague sense of relief at hearing that was all he wanted of her, something she understood and knew well. More than his one other demand, at least, which she was exceedingly new at.

She was to take care of his domicile and his physical needs until the day when he finally took a wife. She presumed he would want a woman of more auspicious breeding to fill the role, as was only right for a man of his standing. Then Marinel would likely be sold to someone else. And then it would be on to the next and the next. From birth, that was the life she was destined for.

She tried not to be afraid.

* * *

><p>Marinel padded noiselessly through the house and crossed into her husband's study. She fully expected to find him there, but instead she found a dark empty space where he usually sat. Next to the bottle she had left him with earlier, his wine glass was overturned. She walked closer and picked up the bottle to find its contents had hardly been touched.<p>

As her faculties shed the lingering haze of sleep, Marinel recalled that his attitude earlier in the evening had seemed strange. The prospect of an end to the Beast's long reign of terror over Minoa and the surrounding provinces was news to be celebrated. He should have been thrilled at the chance to finally see it buried, especially after what it had done to him and his comrades, but instead he'd been gruff and taciturn, hardly in a celebratory mood.

"Dexcian?"

In the stillness of the house her quaint call seemed too loud, yet she received no answer.

Worried, she chewed her lower lip and continued to search the house.

* * *

><p>After their arrival in Minoa, they quickly fell into a routine. By day, he was gone and she saw that the meager staff of four they had were apprised of what needed to be done, what things needed to be cleaned, and what repairs needed to be made. She went to the apothecary as required for certain herbs and liniments and to the market to make sure proper food was always in the kitchen's stores. She ate her meals with the servants while he ate his alone and she warmed his bed whenever he called.<p>

Determined he would never have reason to punish her, Marinel was meticulous in fulfilling her role. She spoke only when required, and when he was home, her master was little better. On the whole, it made for a very quiet household. Conversations were short and to the point. The only time they spent communicating on any level was when they were in bed together and for quite a while that interaction was much the same. She followed his instructions to know what he wanted her to do and never made a sound. When Dexcian finished with her, he rolled away, and after she was certain he'd gone to sleep, she slipped out quietly and returned to her own chambers.

She went through most of her days gratified that she was performing her responsibilities satisfactorily. Dexcian had never hit her, chastised her, or so much as raised his voice to her. Yet there was sometimes this look he had after they had lain together or after they spoke, a look that nagged at her long after she tiptoed back to her own bed at night. It was largely inconspicuous but smacked of disappointment, as if he'd expected more from her and she had failed to deliver. She didn't know what she'd done to cause him to feel that way or what she could do better, but she eagerly undertook every day driven by the desire to please him.

Then her master and his contingent of centurions were called to flush a ragged group of bandits out of the forest. It was an errand no different than many he'd gone on, but Marinel's customary calm was shattered later that morning as Dexcian was brought home in the back of a wagon and carried inside the house on a crimson-soaked sheet.

"It was the Beast," the soldier at his head had said, after shouting at the chambermaid to fetch the physician. He hauled Dexcian upstairs to his bedchamber with two other men at his legs. "It came out of nowhere. It felled five of us and injured a dozen others before the Protector was able to wound the accursed creature, but it …" The sight of naked fear and despair in a grown man rocked Marinel to her core. Such a thing wasn't meant to be. It was as unnatural as the Beast and the other foul creatures that once roamed their world. "The Beast healed itself. I saw it with my own eyes. The Protector was too close. We managed to rally those that remained and drive it away, but we were too late. Five of our brothers are dead and now him as well."

As her master's limp body was heaved onto the bed, Marinel glanced over his wounds in shock. Blood seemed to ooze from everywhere. The Beast had cut through Dexcian's chest plate as if it was paper, gouging several large slashes into his chest. One was particularly deep and dwarfed the rest. The skin around the wound was shredded and that was to say nothing of the damage done beneath.

The men began to file out as her eyes moved to his face. If his complexion wasn't so ghostly white, she would have thought he was sleeping. She'd spent so many nights studying his face to ensure he was well and truly resting before taking her leave of him, she knew its every detail better than she knew her own. He had never looked so vulnerable.

Icy fingers of terror closed around her heart as she started to remove his remaining armor. "He'll not die," she had said into the air. She fumbled with some of the straps, her hands shaking, but she removed it all piece by piece. As she waited for the physician to arrive, she steadfastly repeated to herself, "He'll not die."

* * *

><p>Marinel shuddered as she relived old memories.<p>

"Mistress?"

Letting loose a loud gasp, Marinel's hand flew to her chest before she recognized the household cook, Sevrina, stepping out of the darkness into her lonely candle's reach. Not only was the old woman a talented hand at her craft, but thanks to long years of rising before the sun to prepare the morning meals, she was also a notoriously light sleeper.

"My apologies, Mistress Marinel. I didn't mean to frighten you. I heard you moving about in here. Is all well?"

Marinel nodded, managing a modest smile. Sevrina had been one of the first of the household servants to welcome her when she had first arrived here. That was over five years ago now. "I was looking for my husband," she said. "Have you heard him about recently?"

The wrinkles framing Sevrina's mouth formed a bewildered frown. "I heard him go up some hours ago, Mistress. Did he not come to you?"

Marinel glanced up the stairwell where she had only just come, her expression reflecting her friend's confusion. Even in the beginning Dexcian had rarely chosen to spend his nights alone, and it had been a long time since they had stopped keeping separate quarters.

Distracted, she smiled once again and, unable to wait, started up the stairs. "I will find him. Thank you for your help."

Sevrina shrugged her tired shoulders. "As you say, Mistress."

* * *

><p>After his initial examination of her master's wounds, the physician predicted a long and arduous recovery. "Provided he survives." The middle-aged man delivered that grim addendum wiping Dexcian's blood from his hands, discarding the towel as easily as he dismissed her master's chances.<p>

The process of cleansing and closing the wounds alone had been a grueling one. Although the physician had given Dexcian a draught to ease the pain, he had still needed to summon the men back to hold him down while he worked. Marinel hadn't been allowed to stay with her master. Instead, she heard everything from the corridor. Each of her master's choked shouts of anguish was like a knife carving out a new space in her gut. By the time Dexcian passed out, his bandages were put in place and the house was quiet again, it was nearly sunset and Marinel had gone numb.

She stayed by his side for several days and he barely stirred, only marginally responsive to her efforts give him water and spoonfuls of broth. She sponged him clean twice a day with a soft towel and a basin of soapy water, changed his bandages, and when his brow grew hot with fever, she dabbed away the sweat with a cool, damp cloth. Her days came to revolve around those little moments when he would move, make a noise in his sleep, or even just emit a labored sigh so she would know that he still lived.

As she sat vigil alone, she often wondered how it was possible that a man such as him could be brought so low. To her he was the epitome of strength. She knew every plane of his body and each hardened muscle intimately. She knew the might he exuded, how it felt to have his arms surrounding her, his bulk on top of her, his essence inside her, and to almost feel powerful herself just for being caught up in his wake.

It was a remarkable feeling. He was rather remarkable in his way. And he was so dreadfully still.

Unable to take the foreboding silence any longer, Marinel did something she hadn't done in many months and had rarely done at all. She started to hum. Sometimes it was a tune she recalled from when she was small, sometimes it was a melody she made up as she went, but it was fairly constant and Marinel found a sort of comfort in it. In spite of how worried she was, she actually found moments where she truly enjoyed it.

One of those moments found her a day later. She crooned under her breath while mending an oddly placed hole in the middle one of his tunics. As she guided the needle in and out of the material, absurd thoughts of how he might have made it passed through her mind, sending an absent smile to her lips. She cast a passing glance toward the bed and stopped short.

Dexcian's eyes were open, moist and clouded by the dulling effects of his pain serum but aware.

Shame descended on her in immutable waves as she realized she didn't know how long he'd been watching her take a liberty she'd not been granted. Despite her master's condition, fear of punishment was an automatic response and she lowered her eyes quickly in deference to his authority, only peering up in cowed glances to make sure he was alright.

Yet, to her surprise, he didn't look angry. In fact, he appeared more at ease than she had ever seen him.

"Why … did you stop?" His breathing was exhaustive, his voice slurred and thick from disuse.

Her good sense temporarily mired in disbelief, Marinel dared to meet his gaze. "I-I was afraid I had disturbed you, Master."

His eyes drooped. He would not be able to stay awake for long. "You may sing … if you wish."

"If it pleases you, Master."

A lazy smile passed his lips and he gave her another chance to peer into the near black pools of his eyes. The look he gave her was almost peaceful, absent the stain of disappointment she'd grown to expect. "It pleases me."

Marinel couldn't help but smile in return before he slipped back into oblivion. It was always possible he would change his mind when he was more conscious, or that he might not recall having given his permission in the first place, but her heart didn't seem to care. It thumped heavily within her and her cheeks grew blissfully warm at the mere thought she had done something right.

Over the next few days, Marinel expected every moment for him to revoke her tiny little freedom, but he didn't. Nor had she gone about the house singing at all hours. The notion she was allowed was too far afield of her experience to conceive of, and given her station, it would hardly have been appropriate. But when they were alone and he was asleep – or so he made it appear and thought she didn't notice – she indulged herself and Dexcian listened covertly without uttering a word.

As he began to spend more and more time awake, it soon became the only time he seemed to relax. It was hard for him to remain in bed day after day. He tried to stand and move around, but pain drove him to his back again as surely as if a giant hand had pushed down on his chest. His temper sometimes flared and, more than once, objects in his vicinity were thrown across the room – primarily at the physician when he advised Dexcian it might be some time before he was again the man he was accustomed to being.

The physician didn't come around often.

Marinel continued to handle the bulk of his care, and when the time eventually came he could get up and move about the house, she helped him and walked with him, her arm hooked carefully through his. It felt good to help him and several times she caught herself smiling as he improved. Like her singing, he never said anything to reproach her.

Once, he even smiled back.

Eventually the time came that he'd progressed far enough that he neither needed nor wanted someone constantly hovering over him, and so he dismissed Marinel to resume her other duties. It was a rather abrupt decision, but he desired his privacy. Marinel expected that he would summon her to his bed before long, but again he defied her expectations. Her evenings remained her own. Except for lying with him at night, things between them largely went back to the way they had been before. They spoke several times a day but only briefly, and she took care of the household.

It was very polite. Tranquil even. Nonetheless, Marinel went to her chambers every night with a hollow feeling beneath her breast.

She missed him, she realized. She missed his laconic presence and his foul-mouthed complaints as she changed his bandages. She missed sewing and singing quietly to herself, while he pretended to be asleep so he would not stifle her.

But she was only a slave. Did she honestly imagine he was thinking about her when alone in his bed at night, wishing she was there curled against him and humming her insipid little tunes in his ear? She had known from the very beginning he would tire of her one day, and with the staggering amount of time they had spent together of late, he'd surely had his fill of her. This was merely the first taste of her future on her tongue. She wished it wasn't so bitter.

Again, she had forgotten her place. Around him it was so easy. He made it easy.

Marinel resolved to put the time they'd spent together away in a box in the back of her mind like a summer dress in the winter, memories she could visit on the cold and lonely nights to come, that might someday warm her when he was a figure of her past and she belonged to someone else. She would do her duty. That was the best way she could honor her master and those sweet moments they had together. She wouldn't sully them with useless regrets.

Nearly two months passed that way, spent in dogged detachment. But inside she missed him so much she ached.

She came home from the market one afternoon and stopped into the kitchen to tell Sevrina the vendor would be delivering the food stuffs she required early the next morning.

A pot of broth already simmered on the fire. Hard at work, Sevrina was chopping vegetables for the stew that was to be their evening meal. "I hope you ordered eggs as well," she said with a harried sigh, focused almost exclusively on her knife work. "The Master's been eating more and more every day. Our hens cannot keep up."

She made no show of it, but Marinel was glad to hear he was eating well. With their few interactions recently, he might have eaten an entire cow and she wouldn't have known until Sevrina complained to her of the lack of fresh milk the next day. He had been looking quite well, though.

"I did. But if it is not enough, I will see that more are brought soon," Marinel said, peering absently out the window. With the kitchen situated in a corner at the rear of the house, it offered little in the way of a view, just the dirt path leading to the shed where the gardener kept his tools. Above the swift, rhythmic clacking of the cook's knife against the cutting board, Marinel thought she heard a metallic ringing sound through the walls.

"Do you hear that?" she asked.

Sevrina paused for a moment to listen, and then a faint yet distinct frown settled on her lips. "Ah, yes. That would be the Master and Legate Quintus. They're training in the yard."

Marinel was stunned. "But … he is not ready."

Sevrina shook her head stiffly, almost in warning. "I know what the physician said, but it is not for us to question the Master's decisions."

Another fierce clang breached the walls along with a loud male grunt. Marinel turned toward the sound, alarm twisting in her stomach.

"I would not go out there. It will only invite trouble."

Sevrina's sage advice trailed behind her. Marinel had already gone.

The training yard was a barren circle just beyond the garden kept specifically for Dexcian's use. As Marinel hastened across the grounds, she saw the dust cloud kicked up in the fair summer breeze as the two men went at each other in a tangled clash of shining armor, leather, limbs, and sharpened steel.

While it was common practice in the military's regular units to use wooden swords to train with, Dexcian did not allow it for his men. Those were meant for boys still learning how to fight, he'd said. If he couldn't trust his men to control their steel in the practice yard, then he couldn't trust them in battle. His demanding training style was one of the reasons the men of his unit were the province's elite and the first among the Magistrate's favor. But while Dexcian was still at less than his best, Marinel was frightened his methods would get him hurt. Or worse.

"Your arm getting tired, you lazy slug?" Dexcian tapped the flat of his blade against Quintus' shield. Of the two, her master was the larger by at least a head, but Quintus, his second, seemed faster. Nevertheless, Dexcian's taunt didn't seem to affect Quintus' momentary resolve to keep just out of her master's reach.

Panting, Quintus circled him warily. "Only giving you a chance to rest, Protector."

"When I need to rest, I will simply kill you and put an end to this," Dexcian said without conviction. He was obviously tired. They both were. They fought bare-chested, wearing only armored sleeves fastened with leather straps that crisscrossed over their chests and leather kilts plated with metal. Sweat dripped freely from their brows. Dexcian's mouth clenched over his teeth in a pinched grimace. Marinel worried he was not only tired but hurting and his stubbornness would not permit him to yield.

Quintus suddenly broke his stance and charged. He plowed into Dexcian, who met him shield for shield, gathered himself and shoved. Hard. Quintus staggered backward while Dexcian's sword swung, crashing across the other man's shield once, then he swiped again to hit it with fierce precision along the edge to pull it from Quintus' center. Dexcian brought his shield down brutally once, twice, and the third time Quintus' shield hit the ground. It spun out wildly from the momentum, wheeling across the yard past Marinel's feet.

Dexcian saw it and her. It distracted him just as Quintus brought his sword around, flying in an arc straight for his head.

Marinel's eyes went wide.

However, Dexcian's instincts were as keen as ever. Marinel had never seen anyone move so fast. As his head whirled around, he raised his shield all the way up to shoulder level. Sword hit shield, and Dexcian shouted as he knocked the mid air strike back. He ducked a second blow and leaped toward Quintus. He rolled using his shield as leverage and came up pulling it along with him. Quintus' sword glanced off his shield as he lifted it just in time, but Quintus kicked out, slamming his foot across Dexcian's shield arm and knocking it away. The shield banged as it hit the ground.

Marinel expected the match to turn into a brawl of flashing steel, but Quintus suddenly halted his advance. Dexcian's sword was raised and ready, but it was clear he had also been prepared for the abrupt end. Had they only planned to fight until both had lost their shields?

"Yield?" Quintus asked, his lungs heaving.

Dexcian nodded, frustration apparent on his face. "I yield." He subtly shifted his arm inward and Marinel thought she detected a wince.

Quintus sheathed his weapon. Dexcian made to do the same, but as he reached across there was no mistaking he was in pain this time. He stopped short, unable to rotate his arm far enough without pulling on his injury.

Without thinking, Marinel hurried forward. "Master, allow me t—"

"Make no further step, woman," he cut her off harshly. Piercing concentration veiled his features, and Dexcian stretched his arm around and sheathed his sword behind him. He exhaled heavily as he released the hilt and allowed his arm to drop to his side.

Quintus watched him do it without a word or an offer of help. When the task was finished, he only said, "Tomorrow then?"

Dexcian leveled his gaze. "Tomorrow," he said, his voice tight.

Marinel timidly broke in. She was aware she was pushing her limits, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't abide seeing him in pain. "Master, is that wise? The physician—"

Dexcian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "The physician is not here."

"Do not address your master without permission again, woman," Quintus said. "Would you like me to remind her of her duty, Protector?"

Cold dread seized Marinel's stomach as he moved toward her, the threat clear. Do not look him in the eye. Marinel latched onto her mother's oft repeated advice, although it hadn't helped her mother any.

The sound of shearing metal came from nowhere, and Dexcian was suddenly right behind Quintus with his sword laying flat against his second's shoulder.

"One more move, Quintus, and you'll have further need of your sword," he said unequivocally. "I can see to my own woman. Perhaps it's time you went home and saw to yours."

Marinel didn't dare look toward her master. She only hoped that Quintus listened.

His honor at stake, Dexcian pivoted the edge of his blade to graze the flesh of Quintus' neck. His captive stiffened and hissed sharply.

"Meet me in my chambers, woman," Dexcian growled. _"Now._"

Marinel practically staggered backwards – away from Quintus, away from her master's blistering stare and ready steel – before she turned toward the house. Her heart pounded in her chest as she forced herself to maintain a measured pace, though once inside and out of their sight, she gave up all pretense of decorum and ran up the stairs to Dexcian's room. Trembling badly, she put her back to an empty corner before her knees gave way and she slid down the wall. With trepidation, she viewed the open doorway and waited for the heavy sound of his feet to follow her up the stairs and into the corridor.

What had she done?

At the first sign of Dexcian, Marinel immediately squelched her emotions and grasped at the wall to help her stand. He traversed the hallway with a purposeful gait. He walked inside his chambers and paused to look at her before he closed the door behind him. Praying he couldn't see how scared she was, Marinel kept her eyes averted.

He said nothing. With a scowl, he turned away from her and began to tear at the leather buckles along his arms and chest keeping his armor in place. Piece by piece, he ripped the thick metal plates off and tossed them carelessly to the floor. One skidded near Marinel's feet. Unsure of what to do, she bent to pick it up.

"Leave it." The gravel in his voice rumbled loud and deep. "I did not ask you here to clean up after me."

A shoulder plate hit the ground and Dexcian rid himself of the remaining harness. His chest uncovered, Marinel glanced swiftly over rippling muscles and exposed skin. White lines of scar tissue had taken the place of most of his smaller injuries, but there was still a lot of discoloration around the deepest wound. The seam where the Beast had ripped him open was jagged and surrounded by angry pink flesh where healing plainly persisted. It was clear why the physician had told him he was not ready to resume his duties in the Magistrate's service and would not be for several more weeks. Obviously, Dexcian had not agreed.

When he was finished, he spared her a hard, searching look. Marinel ducked his gaze.

"Have you something to say?"

Her eyes remained low. "No, Master."

She didn't see the heat in his gaze so much as feel it. With slow, deliberate steps, he crossed toward her and took her firmly by the chin. With her back pressed solidly to the wall their eyes met, his black to her blue. "Look at me when you speak to me. And _lies_ are better left to schemers and politicians. Believe me when I say it is a tiresome game and I have no desire to play it with you."

Marinel squirmed in his grasp, almost frantic to escape his glare. He released her and instead braced his hands on either side of her head. For long moments, she shook under his scrutiny as he hovered over her. His masculine scent encompassed her senses and Marinel wallowed in regret. He was as close as she had wanted him to be for months, but this was not how she'd imagined it. She couldn't make herself look at him, not when his next move would be to punish her for her foolishness. She might have been able to bear his displeasure, but she couldn't know what his face looked like in the instant before he hit her.

"What were you doing there?"

He had spoken as quietly and gently as his rough hewn voice would allow. Despite that, Marinel felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. "I-I did not mean to distract you, Master. I—"

"It would take more than a glimpse of a beautiful woman to distract me from doing what was necessary. Now I ask you again: what were you doing there?"

She risked a few short peeks up at him. He needn't have bothered to question her at all. No matter her reasons, she had obviously been in the wrong and Dexcian would have been well within his rights to allow Quintus to reprove her. But …

Did he really think she was beautiful?

"I … d-did not wish to see you hurt again. The physician said—"

"I know what he said." Dexcian exhaled and a trace of the anger smoldering within the ashes of his gaze started to dwindle. "It makes no matter, do you understand me? If his pronouncements were to be believed, I would already be in my grave and you would already belong to someone else. The man is little better than a charlatan."

A thought flitted recklessly toward the edge of her tongue. She choked it back and let the impulse pass unheeded.

"I am sure the Magistrate will be pleased to have you back in his service," she said mechanically. Nervous, she wet her lips and watched with astonishment as his eyes dipped to track the small movement of her tongue with interest.

He tilted his head, gradually lifting his shrewd gaze to trap hers once more. "Are we to play games then? If you choose to continue to lie to me, you should learn to be more convincing."

Marinel's lips fell open. "I assure you, Master, I am not … I did not intend …"

He straightened his posture and caught her upper left arm. She was heartbroken to see the reemergence of that mysterious tinge of disappointment in his features. It cut deeper this time, because he wasn't trying to hide it any longer. It was obvious. She turned away, unable to bear it.

"Look at me," he said with an astoundingly soft pull on her arm. "Look at me."

When she finally did, Dexcian's expression was a curiosity. There was frustration to be sure, but he seemed equally determined not to frighten her further. Marinel couldn't fathom why he would care.

"If you have something to say, I wish for you to say it," he said carefully. "The truth has become a rare thing in my world, but I will have no less in my own home. So do not hide your thoughts from me. I will not harm you, you have my word."

Marinel was hesitant, but it was either speak or risk defying him further. "It was …" she tried meekly, "It was … unkind of you to call the physician a charlatan." The man had always been rather condescending, even to her master, but when she thought of the mess the Beast had made of Dexcian and how close he had come to death, she respected the physician's efforts to help him live.

Dexcian shifted. His hand loosened, his expression locked in serious consideration. "I am unwise to resume training and now you think me unkind as well."

"No, I …" Mortified, Marinel could hardly think. Not only had she questioned her master in front of his comrade, his sworn brother, she had insulted him too.

However, he seemed to take little notice of her difficulty. He looked at her with a startling new intensity, a new heat that left trails of fire blazing across her skin. He reached up to push her hair back from her shoulders and the simple brush of his fingers sent a flush to her cheeks and wet heat pulsing to her core.

"You took better care of me than that harridan ever did. I had thought it a kindness to release you from one of your duties in repayment. Was I wrong to do so?"

He inched closer, pressing her further against the wall, and stealthily moved his hand inside the slit of her skirt. Thoughts of why Dexcian might feel he owed a slave anything flew from her mind as he pushed back the satin material and grazed the skin of her thigh. Her breath hitched as he murmured in her ear. "After all, why should you suffer the touch of a damaged soldier when you deserve a whole one? Was that not a kindness?"

Marinel hardly heard what he said. The tips of his fingers crept upward and found her moist center. A shuddering gasp wound through her and broke free.

While he delved into the soft inner reaches of her body, his other hand surrounded the nape of her neck and brought her to him. Cheek to cheek, hip to hip she molded to him, her arms looped around his neck.

"If you think me so unkind, were those nights wasted? Should I have summoned you to my sick bed? Taken you only to find you less interested in what I had to offer than you were before?" He let go of her neck and fumbled with the laces keeping his armored kilt cinched around his waist.

Her mind swirled in a vortex of confusion, pleasure, and wicked torment. She needed to be closer to him, a part of him, the substance of what he told her vying for a seam inside her spiraling consciousness as she held him tight.

"Maybe I should have borne it and taken you regardless. Surely, if I was as unkind as you believe, I would have. I might have slept better with your taste on my tongue and your scent on my pillows," he said with a guttural growl in her ear as his kilt fell to the floor. Breathless, Marinel gazed up at him in astonishment and a grim smile touched his mouth. "What did you think, woman, all those nights when I left you in peace? Did you believe I had forgotten you, or did you simply think me incapable?"

He swept her up against the unforgiving surface of the wall, and barely waiting long enough to haul up her skirt, he sheathed himself inside her with a fierce groan. Enveloped in his arms, one encasing her hips and the other cradling her neck, Marinel bit her lip as he began to move.

Dexcian had been her first and her only. Everything she knew of bedplay had come from him, affairs where he'd taken his pleasure from her able body and Marinel kept silent, denied the freedom of voicing her own enjoyment because he had never asked it of her. Perhaps he thought it would have been a lie, she thought in passing as she arched into him.

But something felt different this time. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she savored the power in the rolling muscles of his back and behind as he thrust into her. Something bestial awoke within her at the feel of Dexcian grinding against her, pinning her to the wall. It writhed and howled, tired of being caged. A thrilling bolt of energy traveled down her torso, curling her toes as she clung to him. Her mind and body reeled in ecstasy at the long-missed sensation of being joined again as one for a few precious minutes.

Marinel moaned.

Dexcian grunted low and deep, his ragged breath hot against her shoulder. His lips ghosted over her soft flesh. He reached for her hair and pulled back gently to expose her throat to him. "Is this another game?"

Another cry of pleasure escaped at another enticingly hard push of his manhood. "No," she gasped. "Please … more."

She felt him smile against her neck and, if possible, he held her tighter while his mouth parted and his tongue tasted skin. Marinel dug her nails into his back seeking more of him, wanting to be lost in his essence, longing to merge with him forever and forget that two was ever more than one.

Dexcian lifted her and carried her to his bed, kicking discarded bits of armor out of his way. He laid her out across the soft sheets and parted from her only long enough to rid her of her dress before he joined with her again, covering her with his body. Caught up in the furor of movement and the current of euphoria building rapidly between them, his mouth worshipped at her neck then moved down to tease her nipple. As Marinel strained towards him, he kissed her with blazing energy and brought her knee up, then took a firm grip of her backside in his massive hand.

Friction mastered them both and Dexcian's groans grew in their ardor. They sounded in her ears and moved through her like a trembling of the earth, practically ripping more feverish cries from her throat as she threw her head back and her hips rose to meet him. As if possessed to touch every inch of her, every hidden reach, he pushed deeper, ever deeper to the point where pleasure flirted with pain. Marinel was conquered, complete and full, and she rode atop an unstoppable wave of rapture.

"Ohhhh …" she gasped out, grabbing helplessly at his back to beckon him on as her consciousness soared. Her passionate moans became desperate whimpers as Dexcian tangled his fist in her raven hair and held her fast, locked inside his powerful gaze until the dam broke. Overtaken, she screamed as she'd never believed herself permitted before. Dexcian thrust into her twice more and then his muscles went rigid. He shouted as he poured his seed into her. Hips driving, he stroked himself along the snug confines of her body, taking unrestrained pleasure in milking his release as she shuddered around him.

A few luxuriant moments later, he nestled clumsily on top of her with a satisfied rumble in his throat. Still embedded within her, he seemed content to remain as long as needed to revive his claim on her. Awash in a lingering veil of bliss, she looked up at him with heavily lidded eyes and thought there was no need. He had made her his long ago and she always would be. No matter what the future held.

As they lay together, he skimmed his hands along the soft underside of her arms to lift them higher and then gently trapped them against the bed. Entwining his fingers in hers, he nipped at her earlobe and laid kisses along her jawline. Marinel sighed happily. Obviously pleased with her little noises, he let out a muted chuckle. A smile played at her lips to see the lines in his face soften for a moment, even if it wouldn't last.

Some of the things he had said slowly came back, and guilt nudged at her heart. She had been so concerned with him recovering physically she had neglected to consider the toll his injuries must have taken on his pride. "I did not mean to doubt you," she said quietly. "I hope you can forgive me for speaking out of turn in front of Legate Quintus."

He drank her in with his obsidian gaze. "When I summoned Quintus, he knew I was damaged. Now he knows I'm not broken. He will carry that back to the men, so they may prepare for my return. That is all that matters."

Marinel nodded. The respect of his brothers was important to him, and vital if he was to remain their commander. Perhaps Dexcian had needed to return to training so he could continue to respect himself as well.

With a low grunt and brief pinch in his features, Dexcian eventually pulled away and stretched onto his back. Marinel shifted next to him and draped her arm across his chest, her fingers lightly tracing the lines of his scars. "Does it still pain you?"

"Some," he said simply. She pressed a kiss to his wound and he groaned in contentment. His hands began to caress her shoulders in languid strokes and then moved down to appreciate the curve of her breast. "Though not enough to dissuade me from having you again. If you are willing."

"I would do as my master wishes."

He paused, stilling all movement. "In this, I would have you do as _you_ wish. You could have let me die. I can think of no other way to repay you for what you have done."

Marinel didn't know what to say. She'd never heard of such a thing. But she knew what she desired and that she would never dare argue with him again. "I would like to please you," she said, a sudden shyness coloring her cheeks. "In whatever way I can."

It felt so strange to say aloud. It was … freeing.

Dexcian observed her, a trace of careful, thoughtful consideration in his gaze. Then he maneuvered her atop him. After a deep, penetrative kiss, he guided her hips where he desired and soon Marinel was astride him, gasping his name to the heavens.

That night, she waited for him to fall asleep as she always had before and got up to return to her own chambers.

"Marinel," he said into the darkness, stony and beautiful.

Her breath hitched as she froze. She had been with him just over a year and he had only used her name a few times. It simply wasn't something he did. Why should he when she was a slave and he was her master?

But what he said next was no command. It was low and sweet and bare.

"Stay."


	6. A Woman's Destiny

**Author's Note****: **Part Two!

**.**

**Chapter 6 – A Woman's Destiny**

**.**

xo

Marinel searched the guest rooms to see if Dexcian had decided to sleep elsewhere. She even went so far as to check her old chambers with no luck. Her former room hadn't been touched by anyone other than the chambermaid since that night over four years ago. She had stayed with him and never left.

Marinel's concern started to germinate into real worry. Tired of squinting into near pitch black rooms, she traded the single candle for three grouped together in a gold candleholder and started down the upstairs corridor once again. She ran through a mental checklist of all the places she'd been and those she hadn't, and among those considered the places Dexcian was most likely to be. He might have gone outside to look at the stars that shone past the light of the two moons. He liked to spend some of his evenings that way, in quiet solitude. Or he might have gone to the kitchen. Though he hadn't set foot there more than twice since she had lived with him, he'd missed the evening meal. He might have wanted something to eat.

But, for all that her thoughts pushed her forward, she hesitated to go.

Marinel was also becoming increasingly aware that any minute the babe would need to be nursed. Her baby was going to be hungry and she didn't want to be outside or half the length of the house away from the nursery when the cries started. What if she didn't hear? Held hostage by her maternal instincts, she imagined her child's little pink face scrunched up in tearless wails with no one to answer and grudgingly decided to double back. She would just slip inside the nursery and make sure the babe was still asleep and warm, then she could look for Dexcian.

She turned with a sigh, aware of what he would say if he was here. In his aloof manner that so many people mistook for coldness, Dexcian had told her more than once to stop fretting so much, but she couldn't help herself. She gave all she could when it came to her duties as a mother, yet she often worried herself into tatters wondering if she was doing it right, if she was giving enough. Her first child had given her a gift more precious than she could ever have hoped for. He had given her a life as more than a mere slave. He was the reason she now had a home and a husband she would never have to let go of. She owed him a debt she could never hope to repay.

And she had failed him.

* * *

><p>Another year passed. A good one, made so mostly by Marinel's altered living arrangements with Dexcian. Her daily routine remained the same, full of menial yet essential tasks. But what happened at night surpassed every expectation Marinel had ever had for herself.<p>

Dexcian had always been quite virile, but knowing she came to his bed by her own choice seemed to spur him on. Their nights were filled with sweat, passionate whispers, and the moans of two people driven to the end of their bodies' ability to feel pleasure. He was especially intrigued on those few occasions when she shored up her courage and took the lead. He encouraged her to explore his body as she liked and did so with an all too rare smile. There was talking, sometimes laughter too. And on nights when Marinel was ready to melt from exhaustion and exhilaration, she sang quietly while Dexcian drew sedate, seductive patterns over her skin. Every night she went to sleep with his head on the pillow next to hers and a prayer on her lips that she might stay with him for one more day, never asking for forever because she knew that could not be. Just one more day and that would be enough, she told herself, all the while knowing the next night's prayers would be the same. Always she wanted one more day.

Dexcian returned to his duties. He was away often, and when he was home he kept Marinel fairly insulated from his day-to-day activities in the Magistrate's service. She had little notion of the mandates he was asked to perform and he was generally reluctant to discuss it. When asked, he told her quite bluntly that she didn't want to know, and eventually, after having washed enough blood out of his clothes and seeing him once diligently and painstakingly scrubbing it from his hands, she decided he was right.

But when he was chosen to be the Magistrate's Hand in an exhibition fight at the pinnacle of the Belosian Lunar Festival, she saw him in action firsthand, fully healed and every bit the powerhouse warrior he'd always been. Dressed up in the finest gown she'd ever seen, just for that one special occasion, Dexcian took her to the Games Arena as his woman. She was captivated by the thunderous spectacle and watched him take on the Arena's top career fighters – men who fought for a purse rather than honor – as a champion of the people.

Dexcian was by no means an easy man. She saw for herself how the public and even the Games Masters hastily moved aside for him, and how the other fighters feared him when he stepped out into the sandy arena. But on that day, in her eyes he was perfect.

And she was so caught up in the unexpected twist of fulfillment that life had brought her that she failed to recognize the signs that she carried his child.

Children born of a slave and her master weren't an unusual occurrence; Marinel saw them every day, doing chores or playing in the streets as she went about her errands. But, male or female, they had little place in society other than as laborers and could not legally inherit anything from their fathers, be it money, title, or lands. Those rights were reserved for children born of women fortunate enough to be taken as wives.

Dexcian had made it clear from the beginning that he had no interest in siring any such children, and as she had no say in the decision, Marinel had accepted it without question. He was a man of great reputation in the province and any children out of her would have been beneath him. She firmly believed he would one day set her aside and marry another to get his heirs from. Regular additions of dried, bitter herbs from the apothecary in her tea prevented her womb from quickening and their life was as it was.

In hindsight, Marinel came to think that had she been more experienced, more knowledgeable about such things, she might have seen the initial symptoms for what they were – missing her bleed, the tenderness in her breasts, the periodic sickness that struck hard and then seemed pass just as quickly as it came. Her second bleed passed before she realized something had changed, and even then she didn't suspect what. It was only when her stomach began to harden and a small bump developed that she got her first inkling that she could be with child.

Marinel was stunned. The idea that she was to yield another life was wholly surreal. It took quite a while for the initial shock to wear off, and once it did she dreaded what Dexcian would say. She was terrified he would be angry with her and all that they had shared would disappear. But by that time she had already consumed another month's worth of the apothecary's concoction and the damage had already been done.

She never got the chance to tell him.

The cramps were mild to begin with, so much so that she hardly noticed them. A slight tightness in her belly was all she felt as she went to the market that day. By the evening meal she was uncomfortable, but she attributed it to being on her feet too long. She was tired. She hardly touched her dinner and went to bed as soon as she could, hoping a decent rest was all she needed.

In the middle of the night, Marinel woke to a throbbing, squeezing pain stretching across her abdomen. Feeling very strange, she blindly clutched at her middle. She stirred in the sheets, disoriented, and the movement sent knives slicing up her belly as the world spun slowly around her.

A colossal shadow in the moonlit room, Dexcian warmed the bed next to her lying sprawled out on his stomach. He looked so peaceful, she thought as she gradually became aware of the slick wetness pooled between her legs. She peered listlessly out from under heavy eyelids and her conscious mind floated somewhere above her, somewhere the pain only reached her in short, agonizing bursts before it slipped away again. Somewhere absent of panic or any other feeling as a primitive sensibility of what was happening slowly seeped in. Dexcian was little more than a foot from her, but she felt miles away.

She should go, she thought. She shouldn't disturb him. He didn't need to witness this. She could spare him if she just went.

Marinel dropped her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Her head drooped as dizziness assailed her, but she managed to get to her feet. She stumbled and swayed across the bedroom with blood leeching down her thighs, impelled by a hypnotic instinct to move, something akin to a wounded animal slinking off into the woods alone.

Sheets rustled.

"Where are you going, woman?" Dexcian's voice was muddy from sleep.

Marinel reached the doorway and leaned heavily on the threshold. She was aware enough to know she should answer him and soon, but she couldn't. She couldn't move at all. It took every bit of will she possessed to stay upright and already her strength was flagging.

He lifted his head from the pillow. The sheets fell away from his sculpted and scarred torso as he rolled onto his side to face her. In the dark, he couldn't have seen the inklike stain behind him on her side of the bed or the blood trailed across their chambers. Nevertheless, his expression tensed and his tone became guarded. "Marinel, come back to bed."

She looked at him completely helpless, that distant quality breeding in her eyes.

"Marinel."

Then she sagged as another spasm hit, forcing a tortured gasp from her throat.

"Marinel!" Dexcian tore back the sheets and bounded toward her, catching her just before her legs buckled entirely. Her head lolled into his chest as he hooked her knees to scoop her up. He carried her back to the bed and Marinel blinked against an ever thickening fog.

The next thing she knew she was laid out as Dexcian prodded at her, manipulating her this way and that trying to find what was wrong. Frustrated by the darkness, a font of curses poured from his mouth and the very next instant she was haloed by the gentle glow of a lone candle on the bedtable while Dexcian urgently pulled at her chin. "Wake up, woman," he said harsh and fast. "Marinel, wake up."

The moment he saw her eyes open, he moved away from her head and yanked at her nightgown, examining her with hurried roughness. And then his hard-edged stare faltered. With a desperate sense of purpose, he pushed open her legs and a shade of apprehension like she had never seen on him formed on his features. He looked stunned, like someone had hit him. Then he threw his head over his shoulder and shouted so loud that the denizens of hell might have run screaming.

Marinel laid there limp, her consciousness streaming through a dark, narrow tunnel. A confluence of startled voices broke out in the direction of the corridor. Frightened oaths to the Ancestors. Dexcian yelling for someone to fetch the damned physician. Then he was in front of her again, his face close to hers.

"Stay awake," he commanded, his eyes swallowing her whole. Marinel could only look back at him, tired, with pain searing her insides. Her baby had slipped away. She hadn't even had the chance to grow accustomed to the idea that there was a baby and now it was gone.

A tear pearled in the corner of her eye and slid down her face. His jaw tense, Dexcian rubbed it away with his thumb. "Help will be here soon," he said softly. "Stay awake, do you hear me?"

What else could she do but obey her master?

Marinel stayed awake, but she couldn't stop the tears, and after a while Dexcian stopped wiping them away. He laid his head down on the bed next to hers and waited.

She heard them talking in the hallway later – Dexcian and the physician he barely tolerated – after the crisis had passed and the house had calmed. They spoke in hushed tones, but she caught all that she needed to. It had been the herbs she took. They were harmless enough ordinarily, but in the event a child was planted in the womb, they became dangerous and made sustaining a pregnancy near impossible. Women in her situation often bled profusely. Some bled to death. Marinel took small comfort in hearing that, given all she had lost, she'd had a lucky escape. How was she supposed to take consolation in her life when she had unwittingly been the cause of her own child's demise?

Surely Dexcian hated her now. Though it could never be as much as she hated herself, she couldn't bear the thought of seeing his scorn, of living with coldness after enjoying his fire. Or perhaps he was glad the baby was gone. After all, he had never wanted a child that way. Maybe his subdued behavior was simply a sign of his relief.

Exhausted, her face swollen and stained from weeping, Marinel closed her eyes wanting to disappear.

She slept for a time, sore and dreamless, knowing all the while that Dexcian was there with her. His presence wasn't one to be missed, even at rest. When she finally woke, he was slouched in a chair next to the bed watching her with a pensive frown.

"Why did you not tell me?" he asked finally, when the silence grew too heavy.

Marinel looked up at him. "I-I was … not sure at first. And then I …" She choked on a sob and hid her face in the feather pillow. She'd been afraid to tell him, terrified of losing out on what remaining time they had together. She still was.

Dexcian glanced upward to the empty ceiling and exhaled slowly before looking at her again. "Have I ever given you reason to fear me?" he asked quietly.

Marinel shook her head, feeling exposed as only he was capable of making her feel. She bit her lower lip to halt the swelling tide of her emotions.

He leaned forward in his seat, a certain stoop in his posture as though strapped with a heavy burden. "You'll not be taking those herbs anymore. Never again. Am I understood?"

Marinel fluttered an acknowledgement. "Yes, Master. As you wish. I will, of course, bear you children when I am able. If that is what you desire. I—" With a lump in her throat, she sensed her time with him crumbling into ashes, but she forced herself to finish. "I simply thought you … did not want children from a slave."

He stiffened and his mouth peeled into a thin line. "I don't."

Marinel lowered her eyes. She had known this moment was coming from the very beginning, but was still unprepared for the blow.

"Yes, Master," she whispered. She almost wished he had hit her. Surely it would have hurt no less.

He scowled and took her chin in hand, gently drawing her eyes to him. "Which is why we will be married. As soon as may be."

Marinel's heart skipped a beat, her lips agape. "But, Master, I—"

"Would you rather I released you?"

"No, please," she said quickly. An excruciating twinge caught in her stomach. His hand covered the width of her shoulder in an apparent attempt to steady her as she held back a breathless shriek.

After a moment, his fingers brushed the nape of her neck and she tried again. "Please, Master, I would stay. You know I would do anything you asked of me. I only thought …"

Her eyes fell of their own volition. Dexcian nudged her chin again, a tender reminder that he wanted her to look at him. "What?" he asked.

"What if someday you want another?" she murmured, unable to do any better. "Someone more worthy of you? I could not … I would not wish to stand in your way."

He was quiet for a long time. Outside the light of a new day was already waning. Rays of sunlight streamed through their window in burnt, aging hues of red and orange. Eventually he bowed his head, and in a voice that abandoned his usual coarseness for velvet, he said, "I want no other. From the moment I saw you in the street, I have wanted none but you."

He did not wait for a reply, nor did she have one to give. He simply brought his hand to rest on her stomach, where their babe had once been, and smoothed his thumb across the fabric covering her. Dexcian hadn't even known he was to have a child until it was too late, but Marinel saw that he mourned.

It was then that she realized what she felt for him was love—unlikely and a thing rarely seen, but love true enough. She would have him in any way she could until the day she died. If he wanted her for his wife, then who was she to say no?

* * *

><p>The hinges on the nursery door squeaked as Marinel tiptoed inside. She set the candelabra on the nearby stand and honed in on Marcus' sleeping face. He lay on his stomach with his chubby legs and arms coiled beneath him, his haunches in the air and his fingers in his mouth. He'd kicked off his blanket again. Marinel smiled and nudged the toddler carefully back down onto his side. She tugged his blanket over him and then affectionately brushed the mop of black hair away from his forehead. It was hard to believe he was already two years old, when in moments like these he still seemed so much the baby that she'd doted on.<p>

These days most of Marcus' time was spent in play and chasing after his papa, when Dexcian was at home. He idolized his father the way every boy should. He ran around with his pint-sized wooden sword, pretending he was already the great warrior Dexcian was, and it warmed her heart every time Dexcian stooped down to his level and adjusted his little hands to remind him of the proper grip.

The day she spoke her marriage vows to Dexcian at the Altar of the Ancestors, Marinel had believed it was to be the happiest day of her life. She had been wrong. It was surpassed, if only marginally, by the day Marcus was laid on her chest squealing and crying for all the world to hear.

* * *

><p>After he was born, Dexcian came in a short while later, stepping inside their chamber with endearing hesitance. While the newborn babe suckled gently at Marinel's breast, the midwife was at the foot of the bed gathering up the last of the soiled and bloody towels to be taken away. It was clearly not an arena he was comfortable in, but after waiting while she labored for nearly a full day's turn, he was impatient to meet his son.<p>

"He is healthy, lord Protector, and all is well with the mother." The midwife addressed him with all due deference as he tentatively took a place at the edge of the bed by Marinel's side.

Dexcian searched Marinel's face over as if checking the old woman's assessment for himself. Marinel gave him a reassuring smile, blissfully numb and having just fallen in love for the second time in her life. She looked down and caressed Marcus' precious cheek with her index finger, then broke his latch on her so he could properly view his son.

With wary curiosity, Dexcian peered across her at the tiny furrowed brow. After a moment of quiet, he asked the midwife, "Is he meant to be so small?"

"The babe is a good size, lord Protector. He should do quite well," the old woman said. "Your wife has given you a beautiful boy."

Dexcian gazed impassively down at Marinel and the babe. As if worried he would break the boy, he gingerly touched his son's tiny hand and Marcus' fingers slowly curled in response.

"That she has, woman," he said in a low voice, his thumb stroking over brand new skin. "That she has."

Marinel couldn't help the tired smile that had passed her lips, just before Dexcian turned and reverently pressed his mouth to hers.

* * *

><p>Echoing that wonderful memory, Marinel softly placed a kiss to Marcus' forehead and stood. She wished the birth of their second child could have been the same, equally full of joy and the pride Dexcian had taken in their son, but with a persistent ache of sadness, she supposed it wasn't meant to be.<p>

Dexcian had held their newest baby only once, just after the delivery and only for a few minutes. He'd hardly looked at his daughter since.

Marinel padded noiselessly toward the crib.

Reserved as quarters for the family, all the rooms on the upper floor of the house were spacious. They were comfortable even in the chill of winter and opened up in the summertime to balconies that overlooked the heart of Minoa. The nursery was the same, and it was ideal for keeping the two children close by while they were so young. Marcus would eventually need his own space, but Marinel liked that they were together for now. She wanted him to spend as much time with his sister as he could, while he could.

Not even a girl with a father as honored as Dexcian Navis was immune from her duties. One day, she would leave to be trained – likely in the Magistrate's own household – and when she was of age, she would be sold like any other. Marinel hoped it would be as a wife and not a mere slave, so that, like her, her daughter could be spared the will and hands of many men to serve only one. But none could predict the future, nor the character of the man her daughter would end up with.

Sometimes when she was alone in the nursery at night, Marinel sobbed over her daughter as she nursed, drinking in those innocent, dark almond eyes, the shock of dark hair, and her sweet face – the features of her perfect little angel. She remembered her mother, her father, and the fear that had once ruled her days and nights, devastated at the thought of someone beating her or treating her as though she was nothing. Marinel tried not to resent Dexcian for ignoring her. There were times after she crawled back into their bed with those bitter tears still fresh on her face when he wrapped his arms around her and held her close. She liked to imagine that he'd heard her crying and understood her sorrow. But it ultimately changed nothing. She had given him a child he could not love. Not if he was to teach her her place. Not if he was to let her go.

Useless as they were, Marinel tried to quit herself of those thoughts and focus instead on doing what she came here for, so she could resume her search for her husband. It wasn't easy, but as she drew nearer to the crib all other thoughts flew away. At first Marinel believed it was the dim light compromising her view, but genuine horror soon took over and had her running the remaining distance. Frantic, she tore back the baby blankets to find an empty crib.

Petrified oaths ghosted past her lips, coming out as a choked gasp instead. It was good that it did, because otherwise she would not have heard the deep, muffled intonations of a male voice, nor would she have turned around to see that the doors leading to the balcony had been unlatched.

Marinel opened the doors and whatever breath that remained to her vanished. Dexcian was out on the balcony, shrouded by night's wide, starry veil with the twin moons bright overheard.

In his arms, he cradled his daughter.

Dexcian glanced sidelong at Marinel as she stepped out to join them. Nonchalant, he inclined his head toward the sky. "I was showing Astrea her home. Where her name came from."

Struck dumb, Marinel looked up at the stars and then back at her husband, who seemed so close yet so distant. "You never came to bed."

Dexcian didn't reply.

"How long have you been out here?" she asked.

"Long enough." He gazed out toward the city lights, gently rocking the baby in the well of his arms. Astrea seemed contented sucking on her hand with her fingers balled up in a crude fist.

Marinel took a tentative step forward. "All night?"

Dexcian looked down at his daughter, wistful and contemplative, full of masked regrets. "Only a little while."

He raised his daughter up to kiss her plump cheek and again silence fell. For several minutes, Marinel didn't have the heart to break it. She eased up to him, and resting her hands on the railing, she sought out the moonlit dark that Dexcian found so appealing. The same one that had him hiding away from her and from their bed.

It was a beautiful night, quite peaceful with hardly any wind at all and not a cloud to be seen. So still and quiet the chirp of a cricket would have shattered the illusion that all was well, that Dexcian had finally come to accept his child and a dream three months in the making had just come true. It was hard for Marinel to embrace the joy blossoming within her at the sight of Dexcian being so caring toward their daughter, for being the attentive father he'd been with Marcus, when she didn't know what the price had been.

He had been so distracted ever since he'd come home from the Magistrate's manse. Her intuition told her something terrible was coming, and for a while she couldn't bear to speak for fear it would arrive. She wanted time to stop so she could remain here in this moment with him always.

Eventually, Astrea let out a soft whine and it appeared to stir Dexcian from his thoughts. "Shh … shh … None of that, now," he rasped as he gazed down at his daughter, studying her face as if he would never get another chance. "She'll be needing you soon. It's just as well; time grows short, and I must go."

He said it with such finality that Marinel's stomach roiled. "Husband, if I may …" She hesitated, trying not to let her disquiet show. It had been growing steadily and had almost reached a point where it was beyond her control. "What is happening?"

Holding Astrea close, he gently wrapped his other hand around the delicate curve of Marinel's neck and a somber smile spread across his features. "Do not play the slave with me tonight, woman. As long as it is only you and I, I would have my wife and no other."

Marinel nodded, blinking back a sudden unbidden wave of tears as he touched his lips to hers. "Dexcian, please … tell me what is wrong."

Every bit the soldier he was, Dexcian was calm and controlled, yet his reluctance to answer was real. "I face the Beast on the morrow."

Marinel refused to entertain the rush of memory of his beaten and mangled body. "You will have help this time. You said the visitors could defeat it."

"And I believe they can."

"Then we need not worry."

"Perhaps," he said with a vague tilt of his head. "The Dux has his own plans for them."

"You will return. You will return to me," she said, needing to believe it was true.

But the tautness in the flexed muscle of Dexcian's jaw told another story and Marinel's surety immediately began to disintegrate. "On my honor, wife, I will avenge my brothers and protect our people with everything I have in me. I would not forsake my vows to them, nor those I made to you. But I will not make a promise that I cannot keep. The visitor's weapons are untested against the Beast. They may not be able to stand against it, and even if they do, the Magistrate will—"

He paused, and the most heartbreaking look Marinel had ever seen made a home on the face of the man she loved. He cupped her face, admiring her with open regard and an apology in his eyes. "Once the Dux learns of my betrayal, I have little hope that I will see another sunrise, let alone live long enough to see your face again." He smiled again. "If I was given the choice of the two, my beautiful wife, rest assured I would choose you."

The dam broke inside Marinel, and there was no stopping the tears any longer. Silvery droplets beaded together and crept down her cheeks, a knife in her every breath. "Dexcian, what have you done?"

"Only what I must," he said, short and final. "And now so must you."

"What do you mean?" Marinel choked back a sob.

Dexcian lowered his attention to his infant daughter once more, who had begun to fuss in short, mewling whines. But instead of handing Astrea to her mother, he placed her against his chest and patted her until her cries softened into a gentle repetitive mutter against his shoulder.

"I told you of the visitors that came through the Ring," he said quietly.

Sniffling, Marinel nodded.

"There were four of them," he said. "Three men, two of them warriors and one a scholar. And they had a woman with them."

Marinel listened intently as Dexcian described her. Small in stature but possessing the build of a seasoned athlete, belonging to their leader yet moving about if she were beholden to no one. Powerful and strong, able to stand up to the Magistrate himself and – what seemed to impress Dexcian the most – able to look a man in the eye without flinching. Long enough to practically order _him_ to call her by name.

"Teyla Emmagan," he said in a far away voice, not one that would inspire jealousy from his wife but one of final contemplation and decision. "Marinel."

They locked eyes. Each time he called her by name, her universe was comprised of him and him alone. Cold determination greeted her.

"Come the morning, I don't want you to wonder about me or wait until word comes that the Beast has fallen. I want you to pack whatever you may need, and I want you to take the children to the Ring and go. Go, while the sentries are manned elsewhere and there is no one to stop you."

Wide-eyed and spiralling rapidly into shock, Marinel furiously shook her head. "No. No, Dexcian, I-I cannot go without you."

"Yes, you can." He sounded so certain. Why? How could he ever think she could manage without him? A born slave with two children, no home, and without the man she had depended on for so long. How was she to do all that with a heart broken beyond repair?

"I won't," she said flatly. "I won't go without you."

"Marinel …"

"I _won't_."

Dexcian grabbed Marinel by the arm, fierce and commanding. "You will, Marinel. This one last time you will do as I say, and you will go!"

At his abrupt shout, Astrea's little body startled in his arms and she began to cry. Her fearful wails brought Dexcian to standstill and he slowly loosened his fingers from around Marinel's arm. As if it physically hurt him to do so, he handed her the baby.

Marinel clung to the small bundle, shaking and trying not cry alongside her. "Husband, I do not understand."

"She deserves more, Marinel. More than what a man like me will bring her. And you as well," Dexcian said. "A future on a new world, some place where you can teach her to sing."

Finally completely overwhelmed, Marinel sank to her knees and Dexcian followed closely along on bended knee. "You need to take Marcus from here before he starts to see what really goes on around him, before he becomes hard and cruel like the rest of us. Like his father."

Under the crushing weight of impending loss, Marinel stretched her hand across his lap and laced her fingers through his. "Do not say that."

His expression grew stark. "I am not a good man, Marinel. I am not one you should fret over or be proud to have as father to your children. In my service to the province, I have killed more men than I can count. I have knowingly tortured innocent people. And in my time I have made more than my share of women scream. I have made them bleed and some of them begged for death before I was through." He paused and reached out. He soothingly rubbed his thumb over Astrea's back, the baby's wails having died down again for the moment. "A man like me has no right to have such a perfect thing in his life, let alone a son and a wife he loves."

Marinel closed her eyes. In five years together, Dexcian had never told her he loved her. And now … now …

More followed. He seemed done with explanations and concerned only with what was to come. Like he was commanding his men, his final instructions were conveyed in a steady, impassive mode that Marinel could hardly bear to hear.

Grabbing tight to her wrist, he drew symbols with his fingers over and over into the palm of her hand, all the while murmuring to her what to do, what to avoid, and pieces of a story she only half understood. An ancient book their forbears had compiled kept in the Magistrate's vault, available only to the Dux's favorites, arrogant peacocks whom he doubted had ever given the unremarkable looking volume a second glance. Tales purported to be from the records of the Builders themselves. An obscure passage promising a place of sanctuary to any that should find themselves in need, along with a warning for any who dared cross the Ring's threshold and try to enter that hallowed place without welcome.

"You will take care," he said when he was through, urgency burning a path everywhere he touched. He stopped writing on her skin and surrounded her hand with his own. "Marinel … Marinel. Look at me, wife."

Trembling now, she could scarcely move but managed to meet his indomitable gaze head on.

"Live," he said, softly brushing her face. "I need you to live."

Hollow and weeping inside, Marinel clutched his forearm. Her nails dug in as she wished she could hang onto him forever. Five years had not been enough. It had not been enough.

"Please," she whispered. "Dexcian, please … don't go."

He threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her, slow and deep. When he pulled away, Dexcian leaned in, cheek to cheek, foreheads meeting in an intimate touch.

"I am sorry."

Without another word, he stood and walked away.

On her knees with her daughter curled in her arms, Marinel gasped for air, gutted and rapidly dissolving into a torrent of sorrow.

She didn't watch him go. The same as it had been on the day they rode away together at the start a new life, she didn't have the courage to look back.

But what was left of her heart she sent with him.


	7. In a New Light

**.**

**Chapter 7 – In a New Light  
><strong>

**by: Mysra  
><strong>

**.**

xo

John stirred, feeling a soft hand travel over his chest drawing lazy circles. He sighed contently and grabbed it. Teyla was probably still sleeping and unaware of what her hand was doing. Okay, he had done the same before he'd fallen asleep, though he'd tried not to get too comfortable with Teyla's bare skin pressed against his. It was a dream come true in combination with his worst nightmare.

His thoughts derailed when Teyla's leg moved over his and her body turned further toward him. Again his body reacted immediately, and the way Teyla was draped over him, he was sure the reaction wasn't lost on her. His skin went hot with embarrassment.

John's eyes opened and he found Teyla looming over him, her hair falling around them. Though she was smiling down at him, it didn't reach her eyes. His own eyes snapped to her lips remembering how great they had felt against his and the sweet taste that would be ingrained in his memory for the rest of his life. This was all so wrong.

He looked back into Teyla's eyes, a new emotion had gathered in them. Hope burst in his chest, but he quickly stomped it down. It was just for their cover, nothing more.

She freed her hand that was still firmly grasped in his and laid it on his cheek slowly, stroking the scruff. His hands traveled to her waist of their own volition. Deep down he knew they should stop. This was going too far. They had played their parts during the night. His eyes were transfixed as he watched Teyla slowly descend. Feeling her breath on his cheek, her lips grazing his skin, his heart beat frantically in his chest and he wondered if Teyla could feel it too.

Teyla's lips stopped just short of his ear. "Do not worry. I understand that any man's body would react in a certain way to a woman being this close."

There was a catch in Teyla's voice that shot directly into John's heart. His breath caught in his lungs. If he blew it with her now, he would never get a chance to do it right. He closed his eyes and turned towards Teyla, clutching her to him.

He wanted to be able to look at Teyla directly, but she had buried her face in his neck. He had to make her understand. He prayed to whatever power there might be that he wasn't totally misled by what he thought Teyla might feel for him. It was all so confusing, but his fear of losing her if he reacted the wrong way right now was stronger than his fear that he might lose her if she didn't feel the same. John used his weight advantage to turn them.

Teyla gasped in surprise. Her eyes shot open as she suddenly found herself pinned under John, her legs parted, and his arousal firmly pressed against her. Her back nestled in his arms and his hand cradled her head. Their eyes locked and again she gasped as she found them open, not only physically but also emotionally. He was letting her in. There were so many emotions. But one came across so clearly it took her breath away.

They had walked that thin line between reality and pretending all night. She had been surprised by John's response to her act and at one point the act had slipped. There hadn't been much pretending on her side and, from what she had felt and seen, his act had been very real too. Though she had made sure John wasn't aware that she knew, she had been very aware of the dampness spreading at the front of his boxers in the aftermath of her orgasm, a sure sign that he too had found fulfillment in their act and hope had blossomed in her chest, more so as he had asked her to not have to talk about it. Just maybe John did harbor deeper feelings for her.

But his reaction when he had woken moments ago from her caresses had quickly quenched that hope and she had felt the need to apologize.

John was a male, and Teyla knew very well the effect the intimacy of their situation would have on most men. She had mistaken his reaction last night, that was so natural, to mean more, and he very obviously was uncomfortable with what she had been doing last night and what she was doing to him right now. Just once she wanted to be desired by him.

But now he looked at her with open adoration and the desire she longed for. His gaze slipped to her lips and up again. His tongue peeked out to wet his full lips. He was waiting for her submission. Teyla moved her hand to his hair and pulled him to her, smiling happily. The kiss was deep, arousing, and held a promise Teyla felt travel through her whole being. When the kiss stopped, they were both panting hard.

John's mouth drew a line along her jaw and only stopped when he was close to her ear. "You're the only woman I want this close."

He took a deep breath. He turned to the side, pulling Teyla with him. There was no way he was actually making love to Teyla here or now. But his control was slipping, feeling her pressed against him like this.

"I just wish the circumstances were different," he added in a low voice.

Teyla just nodded, closing the gap between them. Again their lips met. Everything important passed between them in silence. This was neither the time nor the place for more than kissing or acknowledging more than what had already been spoken.

Suddenly, John stiffened and broke the kiss abruptly. The sheets had traveled down to their waists. He quickly pulled them up and covered Teyla up to her neck. She too realized that there was someone inside their small space.

"What?" John hissed into the night, angry at himself for not realizing sooner that they were being watched. He wondered how long the person had been there. The shadow moved to the bed without saying a word. There was only faint light so it had to be very early in the morning. Suddenly, John made out Ronon's bulky form. Teyla was pressed into his back, so John decided not to move further.

Ronon looked around as he drew nearer. John also peered around. He pointed to his ear and then drew a circle into the air to tell him that they were probably not alone. Ronon nodded and John had the distinct feeling the big man had already known. But then he'd probably guessed as much from last night's occurrence.

"I liked Harry and Sally," he said, grinning down at John. "Glad they finally figured it out."

John rolled his eyes, but didn't comment. "How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough," Ronon answered. John heard Teyla sigh behind him.

"McKay wants to know how you plan to get the Fantastic Four dvd back from Caesar?" Knowing Ronon was asking how he was planning to get their gear back, John bit his lip trying to keep from laughing out loud at the code his friend had come up with.

"I think Spartacus might be willing to help. At least he offered to try," he answered.

"He'd better," Ronon grumbled. "Willing to let me in on how they manage to get Invisible Woman back?"

Teyla's hand tightened on John's arm and he flinched involuntarily when her nails dug into his skin.

"I haven't seen the movie yet, so I wouldn't know, would I?" John couldn't help feeling angry with himself. In all the craziness, he'd completely forgotten that he was supposed to come up with a plan how to get them out of this mess.

"But you have an idea?"

For a long moment there was absolute silence. "Let's just say they make it up along the way."

Ronon grunted, displeased.

"I hope Rodney is alright."

"You want me to tell him?"

"No need to do that. Just make sure he has a clear mind. We'll probably have to get up soon."

Ronon grunted and turned without another word. John shook his head as he, watched his friend leave. It had been a good thing he'd had come, before there had been a repeat of Harry and Sally. Teyla's hand stroke over his back and John turned back to her. The fear was back in her eyes and a vice squeezed around his heart. He pulled her into his embrace.

"I'll protect you, no matter what."

Teyla nodded against John's chest. The mood from before had vanished with the realization that the night had passed into morning. Soon they would come and John debated if he really should allow them to take Teyla with them. What if they brought her before the Beast without letting them know?

* * *

><p>Dux Ducis was not used to being denied what he desired. But Teyla Emmagan was one prize he would never own, at least not as long as the Colonel was in the picture. It wasn't enough for him to just physically own a woman. She was to be his in every aspect. Whatever claim the Colonel had on her, it went both ways. From their encounter in the pavilion, Ducis gathered that Teyla was a force to be reckoned with. But one he was willing to break.<p>

He needed to get rid of the Colonel and in a way no one would suspect him. A sinister smile grew on his lips. He knew that the Colonel had vowed to protect her, so he would allow just that. He would send them to fight the Beast together, but not with their weapons. With prepped weapons that wouldn't work. He slipped from the bed. The slave that shared his bed flinched away, but he didn't care. He was done with her for the night. He grabbed for his robe.

"Get me another toy," he barked at the housekeeper standing at the door of his sleeping chambers. "And this time one that can be used longer."

The woman gave a curt nod and, without looking up, moved into the room. She pulled the young slave from the bed. Again, the girl flinched upon being touched. The housekeeper studied her. She couldn't be more than sixteen years. Tears were streaming down her face. Her lip was split open and bruises were starting to form on her cheek and eye, while the rest of her body also showed the beginnings of bruises and red marks from where the Magistrate had held her. Blood slowly trailed down her legs. It had been the first time she had been used by a man, and this way, but with time she would get used to it. The Magistrate was a forceful man if things didn't work his way, and from the screams that had echoed through the halls, the housekeeper could tell that things hadn't worked in the slightest to his delight. She looked at the bed and saw that the sheets were stained with blood too. She pulled them off and pushed them to the whimpering girl.

"Press those between your legs," she ordered. "You have made enough of a mess." She moved to the bed and picked up a heavy looking silver bell. Within moments, three more servants entered the room. "Get her to the physician," the housekeeper commanded. "You two change the covers. The Magistrate will be back soon and he's not done for the night." With that, she left to fetch the next poor cattle.

* * *

><p>"I knew I would find you here."<p>

Dexcian barely acknowledged the Magistrate as he studied the weapons the strangers had brought with them. He had to keep his appearance to make sure his plan worked.

"Have you found a way to operate the weapons?"

Dexcian nodded his head.

"I knew you would. Pick your most trusted men to operate them," Ducis ordered. "I have a plan. The cage is ready for the Beast and these weapons will help us catch it. Tell our chamberlain to prepare some weapons for the strangers to use, but make sure they break easily."

"I will hide the weapons close to the caves. That way, you can tell them they've been stolen if they ask for them, and they won't see them among us."

Ducis chuckled. "That is the reason I made you who you are," he crooned. "That is a very good idea."

Dexcian nodded once. "I will inform my men tomorrow. This way only we will know where to find them."

"I leave it in your capable hands." Ducis patted Dexcian on the back. "I will see you at the first ray of light." He turned and, just before he was out the door, Ducis turned back. "If you fulfill your task to my satisfaction, I promise that your daughter will have a place in my household as one of my sons' wives.

"That is a gracious offer," Dexcian lied. He would rather hide his daughter forever than see her married to any of that man's offspring. He knew how he handled women, and from what he had heard of his legitimate sons - the youngest not even seventeen cycles - they were not far from their father's attitude. His luck was that now he had the magistrate's order to take the weapons. He couldn't help grinning. This made things so much easier. There was no need to hide. Whoever was going to tell the Magistrate would be told off.

He gathered the strangers' equipment, including the woman's clothes. He prayed to the Ancestors that this one time his wife would listen to him and do what she was told. He wanted his daughter and wife to have the same worth in the world as he and his son had.

* * *

><p>Dexcian was at a loss. Though he had managed to hide the strangers' things within the cave without attracting the Beast's attention, there was just no way he would be able to let them know. Another ruse like yesterday was out of the question and would only raise suspicions. He had to hurry too. The first glimmer of approaching dawn was traceable in the far distance. He walked through the dimly lit corridors. There was light in one of the rooms used by several of their wise men. Their voices clearly carried through the empty and quiet hallway. Dexcian had learned long ago to ignore their technical babble. He froze, however, when he heard the name of one of the strangers - Dr. McKay.<p>

Dexcian slowed and pretended to check within the rooms for anything unusual. He did it often enough to not be suspected. Dux Ducis was always scared of spies. He listened to what the men had to say and slowly started to grin as he finally found a way to let them know where their things would be. He continued to the last room before heading off quickly.

* * *

><p>John tried to relax, but every nerve in his body stood at strict attention as people hurried past the cubile. Only faint light made it through the window, leaving their cubile still dark, while the main room was bathed in the soft glow of the fires and what had to be hundreds of candles. Once more John wondered about the absurdity of their situation. For all their appearance, the Belosians were a puzzle. They obviously had a technical advantage, yet they didn't seemed to have mastered the use of electricity. How in the world did their other tech work?<p>

Unconsciously, he drew Teyla closer in his embrace. He had no doubt that soon someone would come to take her away again. He watched a shadow linger on the side of the curtain. From the shape it looked like Aelius. But John didn't know for sure, and if he was honest, he didn't even care. Whoever it was was there to spy on them. That he had no doubt about.

Teyla squirmed in his arms and he looked down at her. He hadn't even realized she had woken. Her eyes bore in his before traveling to the side, telling him she had seen the shadow too. They held a silent conversation. Teyla turned, her back pressed against John's chest. She gave a tiny moan and John couldn't help but roll his eyes.

He decided to play along, his arms pulling Teyla close as he buried his nose in her neck and hair. He kept watch of the shadow though and, after a few more moans from Teyla and grunts from him, the fabric of the curtain moved and a face appeared looking inside. After a moment, the curtain closed again and the shadow quickly retreated. John sighed in relief.

"There is not much time left," Teyla said in a low whisper and John concentrated back on her. He snuggled his face close to her ear.

"I have a plan," he whispered.

Teyla shifted and the sheets failed to shield her from his view. Not that he hadn't memorized every patch of her skin during the night with his hands. The sight of her bare chest sent a spike through him directly to his groin. He swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the conversation. Teyla hadn't missed John's reaction and, though he wasn't sure, he thought he saw a smug smile on her face.

His eyes snapped back to hers when her hand touched his cheek. All smugness was gone. Her eyes pleaded with him not to do something stupid. John smiled at her confidently. A single tear rolled down her cheek, startling him. "Don't worry," he whispered to her.

"You will not stop them. Promise me." John didn't need more words to understand what she meant. She was afraid that he would try to stop them from taking her to the ladies' pavilion.

"I have a plan," John reassured her. "And it doesn't have anything to do with getting us killed too soon." He placed a kiss against Teyla's forehead as she snuggled back to his chest. When had holding her become so natural?

Someone cleared his throat on the other side of the curtain.

"Come in," John growled, pulling the sheets higher again to cover Teyla.

"Blessed sunrise," Aelius greeted, switching nervously from one foot to the other. "I wanted to inform you that breakfast is about to be served in one hora tempus. When should we send the guard to accompany the … woman to get ready for the day?"

John barely kept himself calm. If it wasn't for Teyla's restraining hand on his chest, he would probably be up and in the boy's face already. "Get out and let me get dressed," he commanded. "She won't leave here until I have spoken to Ducis first."

Teyla's nails dug in his skin, obviously unhappy about this part of his plan. Aelius scrambled away. John started to untangle himself from Teyla, but she kept grabbing at him. "John," she hissed when he continued to fight.

He sighed. "Teyla, trust me," he said in a soft plea. Teyla was scared. She had no idea what he had planned and couldn't help but fear the worst. Was this the last time she would see him?

Their eyes looked again and John smiled at her, his eyes asking her to trust him. After a moment, she nodded. She pulled him close again for a last passionate kiss. So many things were still unspoken and she hoped she would have the chance to say them. But not yet. Not here. When they came up for air, their cheeks were flushed and their breath heavy. This time, however, Teyla let John slip from the bed. She watched him get dressed while slipping her nightgown back in place.

The shadow was back, clearing his throat again.

"Ronon," John hollered, not answering the waiting boy. It only took a moment for the Satedan to fly into their cubile. "No one takes her until I get back." The order was spoken clear and loud and for everyone to hear. Teyla buried her face in her hands, obviously still far from happy.

Ronon nodded and watched his friend leave, John's face clearly showing his determination.

"Colonel." Aelius quickly followed him, but John kept walking toward the back of the big hall. Suddenly, Spartacus stepped into his way from out of nowhere.

"Dux Ducis is not ready to see you," he grumbled.

"Well, too bad. I am to meet him." John didn't budge when Spartacus took a step towards him. "You have two choices," John started. "Either he's willing to see me now or the deal's off. I have no doubt our people will come soon and they'll be better prepared than we were. You saw our weapons. We can take you on." John knew he was taking a big chance, but he had to. He needed Ducis to be scared. "You don't want us as your enemy."

"Go to the Dux, boy, and deliver the Colonel's message," Spartacus barked at Aelius. The boy looked unsure, but nodded after a moment scurrying away. "Follow me," he commanded John.

John hoped he wasn't screwed when the big warrior led him to the back and into an adjoining room. When the door closed, the warrior turned on John.

"Did your slave deliver my message?"

John frowned at Spartacus. "She's not a slave."

"Here, she is either slave or wife. You had better make the right choice."

John inclined his head. "My wife delivered your message."

"Good." Spartacus nodded, satisfied. He pushed a piece of paper at John. "Do not read it before you have left for the caves."

John nodded, quickly hiding the paper in his pants pocket, and not a moment too soon.

* * *

><p>"Colonel, what a delight to see you," Ducis lied, a fake smile plastered on his face as he entered the room. Spartacus bowed and retreated to the side. John looked at Ducis, his face set in stone. He was done being polite. After a moment, the smile slipped from the other man's face too. "To what do I owe the honor of this early visit?" he asked, his voice showing that he still was the one in command.<p>

"The kid delivered my message?" John asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Now, now Colonel. This is no way to honor your host."

"Not if we were actual guests."

Ducis chuckled. "I believe our peoples will become great friends."

John shrugged. "Depends." A flicker of emotions shot over Ducis' face and John smirked, satisfied. Fear.

"So what can I do to show you that we could become great friends?"

"Return our gear and weapons."

"I had planned on it." Now it was John's turn to be surprised. He didn't trust the sudden change though. "Boy, go to the master of the weapons chamber and tell him to pack our guest's gear."

"And my wife's clothes," John threw in for good measure, taking Spartacus' advice to heart.

"Your wife?" Ducis asked, obviously not happy at the sudden turn.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I?" he asked rhetorically.

"We will deliver her things to the pavilion," Ducis offered.

"I really don't like the way my wife has been treated so far." A dangerous look flashed over John's features and Ducis visibly cringed. "If you want to be friends with us after today, you'll bring her clothes to our current quarters."

It took a moment before Ducis nodded reluctantly and John could tell he was fighting to keep up appearances.

Suddenly, Ducis started to smile though and John couldn't help shudder. "Of course, another man's wife is respected among my people."

John nodded reluctantly.

"Since I so graciously met your demands, I have one small request of my own."

Oh crap, John thought. "We'll at least try."

"I want the Beast alive." John was stunned that Ducis so willingly told him the truth. "Our world was a peaceful place for many years, but that is being threatened by some vicious people who want to change the way things are. Showing them the Beast will teach them how powerful we are without taking their lives."

John didn't buy it. But it didn't matter. "We'll try."

Suddenly, Aelius burst into the room followed by a heavy-set older man. "Master, they are gone."

"What is the meaning of this?"

The older man quickly lowered himself on one knee, his head bowed. "The visitors' weapons, they are gone."

"How is this possible?" Ducis growled, taking a menacing step towards the cowering man. He extended his hand and Spartacus placed a black object in his hand.

"I placed them in the weapons chambers last night and then secured the door for the night."

Ducis face turned red in anger. "Is anything else gone?"

"I have not checked yet."

"Go now and don't come before me without them."

John had watched in calculated silence. He had a fairly good idea why the weapons were gone. At least he hoped he did, but Spartacus' face was an unreadable mask. His thoughts were interrupted when he suddenly heard a yelp. The old man was writhing on the floor in obvious pain.

"What the hell?" he yelled taking a step forward, but Spartacus stopped him, shaking his head ever so slightly.

John watched the man. His eyes fell on the black object Spartacus had given to Ducis, now attached to the old man's back.

"Take this as a reminder to never be this careless again."

John gulped, knowing they were responsible for this. He quickly stifled his anger, taking a deep breath. He had to play along. "Enough," he barked. Ducis turned to him, his face a deep scowl.

"It doesn't bring our weapons back," he added after a moment. "And it's not the way of my people." Ducis nodded and the man stopped moving.

"We will provide you with the best of our weapons and I will send our best fighters with you."

"No," John stated in his best command tone. "We don't need help."

"Surely you will need weapons," Ducis asked and John realized the mistake he had just made.

"I didn't say no to the weapons." Ducis searched his face and John tried to look as inconspicuous as he could muster.

"I will get the weapons," Spartacus suddenly threw in. He exchanged a look with Ducis who nodded, a small smile creeping in his face. Suddenly John was anything but confident. Could they truly trust Spartacus?

"Boy, show the Colonel back to his cubile." Ducis booming voice pulled John from his introspective while watching Spartacus' retreating form. He itched to read the piece of paper securely tucked away in his pocket, but knew he couldn't risk it not as long as they were under watchful eyes everywhere.

"My wife needs her clothes," he suddenly remembered.

Aelius cringed visibly. "All of the visitors' things are gone," he said in a small voice, his eyes glued to the floor.

John tensed when Ducis took a menacing step toward the boy. But suddenly he turned. "I am so sorry, Colonel. Whoever is responsible will be punished gravely for this betrayal."

"My wife needs clothes and I don't mean the flimsy stuff you put her into over the last day. Though I certainly appreciated the look." John ground out, choosing not to acknowledge Ducis' apology.

"Do not worry, our wives do wear more covering clothes when leaving to travel or go to the markets." John couldn't help but smirk. "The clothes will be delivered to you shortly. I will see you for breakfast." Ducis turned. "You heard what I said," he hissed at Aelius while pushing past him.

The boy almost cowered on the floor, and only when the door behind him slammed shut did he straightened.

John waved at him, not saying a word.

* * *

><p>When John arrived back at their current residence, he panicked for a moment when Ronon stood in front of the still closed curtain. But taking in Ronon's semi-relaxed stated, he realized that he just stood guard and had probably left to give Teyla the chance to get dressed.<p>

John nodded at Ronon, moving past him. He was just about to move behind the curtain when Aelius spoke for the first time. "I'll send someone to bring a washing basin for your wife and yourself," he told John. Ronon's left eyebrow shot up and a smirk appeared on his face.

"Wake Rodney and get him ready," John hissed. "Our gear is gone." John glared at Aelius before disappearing behind the curtain.

John managed to take two steps behind the curtain when he suddenly found himself surrounded by Teyla's arms. His arms automatically closed around her too.

"Our things, including your clothes, are gone."

Teyla shrugged in his arms, her eyes searching his as he looked down at her. "But Ducis agreed to get you more suitable clothes than what you've been subjected to until now." He paused for a moment, searching her eyes for her emotions. He wondered if he could find the uncertainty from before, but it wasn't there. Instead he found trust and curiosity. "Aelius is getting everything here for you."

Teyla smiled brightly at him and quickly captured his mouth. John joined readily.

"Should've told him we were married from the start," he muttered after they had broken apart. "Apparently married women have a slightly higher standing," he explained at her inquiring look.

Teyla just nodded.

The curtain rustled and two women entered; one carried a basin holding what looked like cloths, the other carried a pile of fabric. Behind them, a man carrying a big bucket entered, closely followed by Aelius.

He ordered the woman holding the basin to place it on the ledge at the back wall. Wordlessly, she settled the cloths beside the basin and quickly followed the other woman, who had placed her burden on the bed. The man moved to the basin and filled it with slightly steaming water. That done, he too vanished.

"Breakfast will be served soon," Aelius reminded John. "Call me when you are ready."

"You go first," John told Teyla as soon as Aelius was gone. Teyla shook her head and took his hand, pulling him over. "Teyla," John protested. But then her eyes fixated on him again and suddenly he understood.

He had claimed they were a couple. There might be someone watching them. For a moment, he had forgotten in his intent to give her some privacy. He nodded and together they got ready to face the day before them. From the other cubile, they suddenly heard Rodney complain and Ronon grunt in response. At least a few things were familiar.

* * *

><p>"I can't believe the nerve that guy has," Rodney exclaimed as soon as the team was past the city walls.<p>

"Rodney," John warned. He wanted to get at least two klicks away and make sure no one was following them. Ducis had provided them with leather bags holding water and the promised weapons. To carry everything with them, he'd also given them their form of backpack. On first inspection everything looked fine, but still John had a gut feeling telling him to be careful and not trust the guy one bit. John looked at Ronon who held the parchment map. The Satedan jerked his head to the left. John nodded and signaled for his team to fall into formation, Ronon taking point while he brought up their six.

When he was sure they had put enough distance between them and the city and weren't followed, John whistled. Ronon stopped and looked back at his team leader. After a moment he nodded, confirming John's assumption that they were truly alone. He pulled the piece of paper from his pocket. He looked at the Ancient letters for a moment before pushing it at Rodney. He knew the scientist was way faster in reading and translating the writing than him.

Rodney gawked at it for a moment, before snatching it from John's grasp. "Hey, that says our stuff is in a cave and that there is a mark on the card where to find it."

"Rodney, not so loud," John hissed. The scientist cringed, quickly looking around suspiciously. "Anything else?"

Rodney looked back at the paper, his forehead creasing in concentration. After a moment, he gasped. "This is from Spartacus," he exclaimed. "The weapons we have are rigged and we shouldn't use them. Ducis apparently wants the Beast alive." He looked up horrified. John smirked at him. "You knew?"

"It's not as if I could've told you," John defended himself. "Everything we said was being delivered to Ducis before we even finished the sentence."

Rodney huffed, looking down again. After another moment his head shot up again, his gaze focused on Teyla. "Oh, shit."

"What?" Teyla asked into the tense silence and John couldn't help being amused at her sudden loss of patience.

"Ducis obviously likes you," Rodney told Teyla.

"Tell us something we don't know," Ronon grumbled.

"He wants to kill John to get Teyla," Rodney deadpanned.

John grimaced as his teammates eyes settled on him simultaneously. "Not gonna happen." His teammates continued to look at him, their eyes worried. Teyla moved slightly closer and John sighed. "Listen, guys, I'm not that stupid. We'll get our things and then make a run for the gate."

"John," Teyla started, her eyes boring into him.

"Uh, slight problem."

"What?" John barked, losing his patience.

"Ducis feared that we would bail on him, so he decided to send some of his men after us to make sure we hold up our end of the deal," Rodney quickly added.

"But Spartacus is on our side, he will help," Teyla offered. "We need to help him kill the Beast, John. We promised."

John looked down at his feet. The truth was that he'd planned on sending Teyla through the gate and then doubling back to hold up his end of the deal. Not that he planned on telling Teyla that.

"I think Atlantis will try to contact us anytime now. We should get our things and our radios, and make sure we get help to kill that thing," John reasoned, finally looking up again.

"Right, hmmm, here Spartacus writes he will try to distract his men," Rodney mumbled. "Though he doesn't say how." He looked up.

John shrugged. "Nothing we can help him with anyway."

Rodney shrugged as well and snatched the map from Ronon.

"Hey!"

"You can go back to playing tour guide in a second. I just need to find the right cave."

Ronon grumbled and then turned.

"Ha! There. That's where we have to go," Rodney said.

John turned from Teyla, who had inched her way to his side while they had been talking. Rodney looked at them irritated, but quickly shook it off. He held the map to his teammates and pointed at a small symbol at the marking, showing several caves. After a moment, John realized that there was a small x.

"Alright, let's get going."

Ronon snatched the map back with a wide grin as he pushed past Rodney, who turned to John to complain. He frowned when he found him and Teyla standing closer together than usual. "I think we're far enough away from the city. You can drop the Harry and Sally act."

John glared at Rodney. However, it was lost on the scientist as he had already turned to follow Ronon. John defiantly grabbed for Teyla's hand, and even though it was so unlike him, he continued holding her close, their hands entwined.


	8. Rock and a Hard Place

**Chapter 8: Rock and a Hard Place**

**By: Amycat8733**

Ronon was out in front, picking their trail and keeping an eye out for the beast. Rodney was in the middle, grumbling about not having his tablet or an LSD. John had tried to get Teyla to walk ahead of him, but she just gave him a look and fell in at his side.

Since she was at his side, John took advantage of her position to admire her. The clothing she'd been given was more suited to a minor noble woman out shopping for the day, but it worked. She had sorted through the pile of clothes that had been presented and cobbled together a serviceable outfit that consisted of a blue sleeveless tunic, a long off-white overdress and a dark blue shawl, all made of light wool. The woman that had delivered the clothing had indicated what pieces were to be worn since Teyla was supposed to be his wife. If she had left off any of the layers she would have been considered a whore and that was totally unacceptable. John still felt like introducing his favorite knife to Dux Ducis' heart over his treatment of Teyla the previous evening, so in the interest of maintaining peace for the time being, Teyla donned the appropriate costume. The sandals that had been presented were out of the question. They had only a minimal tread and were thin enough that John could have dropped a quarter in front of Teyla and she could have told him whether it was heads or tails. Reining in his irritation, John had poked his head through the curtains and looked around. He spotted one of the boys who ran messages and beckoned him over. John peered at his sandals with an attention to detail.

"Give me one of your sandals."

The boy looked perplexed. "Sir?"

"You heard me. Take off one of your sandals and let me have it."

The boy sighed but knelt and did as John asked. John took the borrowed sandal to Teyla.

"Try this on."

The shoe fit perfectly so John went back for the second.

"What shall I tell the Master of the Household when he inquires about my sandals?"

"Tell him Colonel Sheppard's wife needed them. Then, if he still argues, tell him to speak with Dux Ducis about it."

"I … I don't believe that shall be necessary, Sir. May the blessings of Romulus be with you."

Teyla had shot him a reproachful look when he presented her with the second sandal. "John, did you force that boy to give you his shoes?"

John shook his head. "I simply cut out the middle man. Ducis said I could request anything I needed. Those," he pointed at the feminine sandals lying on the floor, "are not suitable for a cross-country hike."

Teyla plucked the sandal from his hand. "These will do for a walk." She placed one hand on his chest and leaned in close to sip of his lips. "They are not suitable for running, so do not even consider it."

John gulped. Having her that close made certain thoughts a lot harder to hold onto. "Um … no, the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

Teyla engaged his lips for a deeper kiss that left them panting for breath. "I did not think it had."

John yanked his mind back to the present. God, they needed to get this resolved quickly otherwise his libido might kill him before The Beast could. He glanced up and noticed they were in front of the caves.

"So how do we find our gear?" Rodney said. "The 'X' is great, but I don't see any other marks."

While Rodney was grousing, John was checking out the caves. He pointed to a small one to their left. "We need to go in there."

Rodney glared at him like he would at one of his minions. John stared back until Rodney gave in.

"Okay, Fearless Leader, why do we need to go in that one?"

John trotted over and pointed to a set of black markings on the rock face. "It's the home of the Fantastic Four. Guess Ducis wasn't very careful about who might be listening to him when his spy reported back to him on our conversations."

Rodney peered at the scratches John had indicated and snorted. One of the marks could be an "F" if the reader were inclined to be charitable, but the other marks looked like chicken scratch. "Sheppard, I think the parasitic entity masquerading as your hair has finally eaten your brain. Only a highly charitable person would look at those ... marks and call them a sign."

John heaved a sigh as he stepped to the wall. "Watch closely, class." He traced the symbols. "This is an "F", and these two are the Roman numerals one and five."

Teyla frowned. "John, in your people's alphabet, are those not letters?"

"They are, but the Romans also used them as numbers. That's what these other two marks are for - they indicate a number instead of a word."

"Sounds confusing. Why not just write a four?" Ronon asked.

"Because this style of writing was developed to be chiseled into stone." John replied.

"Wouldn't that make a letter really heavy?"

"It would have, Ronon, except they used paper or tanned animal hides for those."

"Yes, this ancient history lesson is fascinating, but can we get on with it? I'd really like a better weapon than this flimsy piece of pot metal when The Beast shows up. I'd also like my tablet and the LSD back too." Rodney said.

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, Rodney." He waved towards the opening. "After you."

Rodney took a step back. "Um, hello, genius here. Shouldn't one of you go first?"

A pop and a second set of shadows indicated that Ronon had lit one of the torches. John stepped forward, the doctored gladius he'd been given held low in his right hand. The cave went back about ten feet then turned sharply. A low mound of rocks occupied part of the cul de sac.

"Well, this is a dead end." Rodney whined. "Now we only have these useless pieces of scrap to defend ourselves with. Face it, Spartacus played you like a cheap fiddle."

John shook his head. "No, there's something here." He took a second torch and lit it then started checking the walls for hidden nooks. Teyla and Ronon picked up what he was doing and soon joined in. John glanced at Rodney after he'd checked a niche in the cave wall. "This would go faster if you helped."

"Sorry, Colonel, but I actually need my hands. Plus, who knows what kind of bugs could be lurking in there, salivating for a taste of my flesh."

"Nah, they're probably trying to decide if biting you will shut you up." Ronon said.

"Oh please, as if. The bugs should ..."

"The two of you should knock it off," John growled. He turned to glare at the two men when a gleam from the stone mound caught his eye. Torch held high, John headed for the rocks to check it out. Kneeling, he cast his gaze across the pile, searching for the source of the reflection. The light grew brighter as Teyla moved up beside him, her torch joining his.

"There's something here, I can feel it."

Teyla shifted feet, the light of her torch wavering. "John, is it not possible that ..."

"Ah hah!" John lunged forward, hands shifting rocks away from his prize. He reached down and picked up a shiny object with a long chain trailing from it back into the rocks.

Rodney peered over John's shoulder to see what he'd found. "Great, now we're tomb robbers."

The shiny object was a medallion that apparently had belonged to a nobleman of the city. John read the inscription and grinned as he tugged the chain free and it caused more rocks to shift and reveal what lay beneath. "Only if we're robbing our own."

"Huh?"

In answer, John held up his ka-bar.

They wasted no time clearing the rocks. All of their gear was present.

Teyla took her boots and socks and perched on a boulder to slip them on. The sandals had not been bad, but the Earth made tactical boots were built for this type of activity. She considered changing into her normal clothes, but decided against it. If they were still being watched, it would give them away.

John, Ronon, and Rodney wasted no time in getting their things together.

John ducked into one of the larger crevices and took the time to change into clean boxers and to slip on a fresh t-shirt. Rodney had been asking very pointed questions about their nocturnal activities which John had given half-assed answers to. He also used some of the handi wipes to clean up. Unlike Ronon and Rodney, he hadn't made the trip to the baths as that would have meant leaving Teyla alone and he didn't trust Ducis any further than Rodney could throw him.

Ronon took Rodney's P90 and hid it beneath his coat. John kept his, but tucked it inside his vest. Teyla slipped her vest on, attached her P90 and covered it with her dark blue shawl.

They slipped from the cave, weapons ready, although only the weapons they'd been presented with were evident. This area was supposedly part of the territory where the Beast liked to hunt. They'd traveled about a hundred meters from the cave when John decided to check with Teyla.

"Teyla, anything yet?"

Teyla frowned, lost in concentration. "There is something, but it is unfocused."

"Which direction?"

She pointed and Rodney consulted the LSD.

"There's something there. It appears to be a life sign, but…"

John narrowed his eyes. "It either is or isn't, McKay. How can it appear to be a life sign?"

"Hey, don't get snippy with me! The sign keeps flickering." Rodney smacked the LSD. "Damn, I lost it!"

"Ronon …"

Whatever John was about to tell the former Runner was lost as a dark shape landed in their midst. Ronon went flying from a hard blow. Rodney scrambled away, knowing he had no hope against the creature. The creature had landed between John and Teyla, with its back turned towards John. The Beast wrapped one long blue-black arm around Teyla's waist. Making a split second decision, John leaped and stabbed it with his gladius. The Beast roared and shook, trying to dislodge him, but it only succeeded in helping John drive the short sword in deeper, causing it to become lodged in bone.

Feeling the creature gather itself for a leap, John tightened his grip on the gladius, grateful it hadn't snapped yet, and threw his other arm around the creature's neck. It bellowed with frustration, but couldn't shake John loose. It leapt into the sky, Teyla caught against its scaly chest and John dangling down its back like an oddly shaped cape.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Rodney hurried to Ronon's side as the Beast and their teammates grew small in the distance. "Come on, Conan! No laying down on the job! The Beast took Teyla, and Sheppard went along for the ride."

Ronon sat up with a grunt.

Rodney cast an appraising eye over Ronon. He was moving okay, so no apparent injuries.

"Which way?"

"The Beast jumped off that way." Rodney waved a hand towards the rest of the range.

"Transmitters?"

Rodney stilled, then scrabbled for the LSD. "They were apparently fried by whatever they stunned us with, but I'm picking up two life signs. They're about two klicks ahead of us."

Ronon stood and brushed his coat off. He pulled his pistol, checked the setting, and set off in the direction Rodney indicated, the scientist at his heels.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

As the Beast took off in another bone jarring leap, John thought back to his time flying fixed wings. The hard landings and equally hard takeoffs reminded him of doing touch and go's, the one part of flying jets that he didn't miss. Helicopters were easier on the body in that respect. The Beast shook itself mid-air, trying once again to dislodge its unwanted passenger, but John held tight.

John took the chance and glanced at the terrain. They were still along the edge of the mountains. Ducis and Spartacus had both stated that the Beast lived in a labyrinth. Knowing the Ancients, it was probably the abandoned lab they'd been told about.

They did two more ground devouring leaps, then a tingle ran through John's body. It was similar to the feeling he'd gotten just before Atlantis woke at his presence, but stronger. The Beast, sensing his distraction, roared then shook itself hard. John cursed as he tried to tighten his grip, but the creature's gyrations made it difficult. The Beast planted its feet, then twisted and bent. John's grip slipped and he went flying to land against the rock wall with a sharp crack.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Teyla stayed calm when the Beast grabbed her. She refused to allow her revulsion at the creature to cause her to panic. She was heartened knowing the creature had placed itself between her and John, which allowed him to strike at its lightly protected back. Its roar of pain spiked in her head, and she wondered if she would be able to affect it as she would a Wraith.

Pinned to its chest, she felt its muscles bunch in preparation of a mighty leap. Risking a glance over her shoulder, she was able to see the Beast's face. It had the broad head of a bull with wide set, slit-pupiled yellow eyes. Two blue-black horns protruded from the crown of its head. Instead of the erect ears of a bull, the Beast had two human-looking ears below the twisted horns. Teyla shuddered when her gaze traveled to the Beast's snout. The head was elongated as a bull's would be, but the mouth was filled with razor-sharp teeth made for rending flesh and surrounded with a huge pair of mandibles large enough to grasp her throat. She recalled the damage those pincers could do when delivered by an Iratus bug. She did not want to see what the Beast could do with those it possessed.

Catching sight of a stripe of tan flesh, she realized that John had grappled onto the creature. During its leap, the monster roared and shook as it attempted to dislodge its unwanted passenger. She almost bit her tongue when it landed and barely had time to draw a breath before it left the ground once more. They made a few more leaps before Teyla noticed two pillars rising from the ground in front of a cave. From their trajectory, the Beast seemed to be heading for them. She guessed that it was possibly the lab where the creature was raised. The Beast shook itself as would a wet canine, then the moment its feet touched ground, it twisted and leaned forward as much as it could without harming her. She heard John curse as his grip slipped, and she caught a glimpse of him as he flew over the creature's head to impact with the rock wall and crumple to the ground in an unmoving heap.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Ronon made good time, although he'd have traveled quicker on his own. Rodney kept up as best he could.

"Uh oh."

"What?" Ronon stopped and waited for the scientist to catch up.

"One of the dots has stopped moving and the other … disappeared. I'm also picking up an energy signal near the unmoving dot."

"How much further?"

"About another klick."

Ronon took off at a lope. Rodney followed behind.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Dexcian appeared calm as he led his hand-picked troops towards the Beast's lair. Ducis had insisted they bring the cage which trailed behind them, being pulled by four oxen. The Dux had also insisted that Dexcian take his cohorts praetorian with him. Dexcian had tried to protest, but his assertion that Ducis' bodyguards were not seasoned enough to successfully combat the Beast fell on deaf ears. He did manage to add several of his own men into the cohort, but they were outnumbered.

Inwardly, he hoped that the Lanteans had deciphered the map and located their gear. If not, they would take the weapons and use them. He had already prepared his lines of reasoning for either eventuality. He checked the terrain and estimated that they were 500 meters from the cavern. He'd had to increase the distance between the two groups after the Primus Pilus and his Venator had almost spotted his scouts. The men were highly capable. Sheppard was obviously a man who knew how to inspire loyalty and what it took to keep it.

Eclus, his senior scout, trotted up and halted before him with a sharp salute.

"What news, Explorator?"

"Dust from a disturbance. I would hazard that they have encountered the Beast, Sire."

"Was the cave disturbed?"

"It was, but I could not determine by whom."

Dexcian waved the comment away as if it were insignificant. "It does not matter. We have the cage and the prods. We shall manage without the Lantean weapons."

Bentus, the Tribune for the Praetorian Guard, frowned at the news. "We needed those weapons."

Dexcian turned and grabbed the younger man by the neck of his tunic. "I do not know where you heard that, but it is also not your decision. You lay around all day, polishing your armor while good men sweat and bleed for this city, yet you think you have the right to an opinion? Primus Pilus Sheppard and his people may have found their weapons or it may be bandits." His expression grew sly. "It's also entirely possible that the Beast found them."

Bentus paled. "I had not considered that."

Dexcian snorted and released the other man. "I didn't think you had. Just stay out of the way and leave the work to the professionals."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Rodney hurried along behind Ronon, concern fueling his steps. He had a hunch that the Beast had finally managed to shake Sheppard off. In their favor was the fact that it did so at the entrance to the hidden lab that it called home. They topped a rise and spotted two red stone pillars standing sentry over a cave entrance. They were still some distance away, but Rodney thought he spotted a black shape against the rock wall near the pillars.

"Sheppard."

They increased their pace and were kneeling at his side sooner than Rodney thought possible. He pressed trembling fingers against John's neck and released the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"He's alive."

They straightened him out and Rodney shoved a corner of the rucksack beneath his head. He shook his head as Ronon unzipped John's tac vest and checked him over. "Think he's got some broken ribs and he hit his head."

"He could have messed his back up or be bleeding internally or ...or ...heck, I don't know what else!"

"McKay. Don't borrow trouble."

"I'm a scientist, not a medical doctor! We could've made things worse by moving him."

"And we might not have. Need anything?"

"Um, some water. My canteen is empty." Ronon reached down and took it then headed off.

Rodney pulled a field dressing and some cleaning wipes from his vest and went to work on John's head injury. He'd just finished cleaning it when John let out a groan.

"Sheppard?"

John groaned again as Rodney lifted his head to secure the bandage. He lowered his head and was rewarded with a pair of glassy hazel eyes.

"R'ney?"

"Yeah. How do you feel?"

"Head hurts," John whispered.

"Well, that's what happens when you hit a rock wall. Anything else?" Rodney watched as John shifted to ascertain any further injuries.

"Think I cracked some ribs. My back hurts."

"Again, those things happen when you impact stone."

John wriggled his torso more and Rodney got a bad feeling. He'd watched John do this before and it was a full body motion. His fears bloomed when John's eyes opened to their fullest.

"Rodney." John's hand shot up and grabbed Rodney's jacket in an iron grip. "I can't feel my legs."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Teyla remained calm as the Beast carried her through the maze of rooms and corridors. She noted primitive torches spread along their route, although they were unnecessary as the facility was sufficiently lit. She assumed it was John's presence that had caused the Ancient lab to power up. She felt the Beast reaching out once again, the touch of its mind conveying feelings of hurt and longing. She kept her own shields tightly closed so none of her inner thoughts escaped.

The Beast slowed when it reached a room filled with the glow from Ancient consoles. It dropped her on a mixed pile of furs and silk. Some of the furs were finely tanned while others were crude. Dark stains on many of the silks spoke of their previous owner's fates. Teyla shifted the pile and pushed the crudely tanned furs to the bottom. They smelled worse than a dead Wraith and were making her eyes water. She placed the worst stained silks on top of them then layered the rest of the furs and silk on top. She made a production out of settling on the mound and used the time to scope out the rest of the chamber, the Beast watching her curiously from across the room.

The room had consoles spaced along two walls and other consoles dotted the floor. Mirrors above the consoles turned out to be windows into what seemed to be observation rooms. The doors were broken on two of them and it appeared that the Beast was using them to store its treasures. Lights flickered on in one of the others to reveal the Beast's ...trophies. A mound of skulls occupied a sizable portion of the room. Set into the third wall, near her bed, was a blue-green fountain; water bubbling in its basin.

The Beast sprang to its feet and started pacing restlessly, reaching up to claw at its back. Teyla remembered John stabbing it with his sword and guessed that the Beast was trying to dislodge the weapon. Memories of John attacking the Beast brought her worries to the fore. The crack his body made as he impacted the stone wall concerned her. She did not know how badly he was injured or if he was still alive. Her last glimpse of the man she hoped to spend the rest of her life with was of his unmoving form crumpled at the base of the rock wall. A snap echoed and the Beast roared in pain. She looked up and noticed a thin rivulet of dark blood trickling down the creature's back but did not see the hilt of the sword so she assumed that it snapped the hilt and part of the blade off. It was fortunate that it did not do that while they were in flight.

She watched and wondered what was on the creature's mind as it prowled the room.

Next she knew a musky scent intruded on her senses. Teyla blinked and realized that she must have dozed off. The creature squatted before her, holding out a gourd filled with water. She took it and sipped cautiously to make certain there were no foreign substances. She had her P90, but her observations of the Beast made her leery of attempting to take it down on her own. Now, all she could do was wait.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Rodney was stunned; John's statement rang in his ears. _I can't feel my legs._ If it was true, it was a death blow for his friend. It would cost John his career, the city and everything he loved. They were in a war zone and it would be difficult for him to remain in Atlantis.

"Um, it could just be a pinched nerve. You know Keller hates it when we try to self-diagnose. So, you rest and Ronon will be back with some water shortly."

"Rodney, there's something I want you to do for me."

"I'm not putting a loaded gun in your hand. Watching Gall kill himself was enough."

John shook his head. "No, I don't need you for that. I … Tell Teyla that I'm sorry and … that I was looking forward to our talk."

"Sheppard ... John, no. You'll tell her yourself, you pointy-eared bastard. What were you thinking, you suicidal lunatic, taking a ride on that thing anyway?"

John coughed, his breath hitching slightly.

Rodney waited until John caught his breath. "Look, I'm certain it's a pinched nerve. So you just close your eyes and it will be better soon."

John stared at Rodney, an unfathomable look in his hazel eyes. "Yeah, okay."

Rodney let out a sigh of relief as John slipped into an uneasy slumber. For all his optimism, he feared that John was right, but in true McKay fashion he refused to give up.

"Here."

Rodney jumped as a canteen was thrust into his line of sight. "Thanks, Conan! Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What took so long?" Rodney asked as he willed his nerves to calm down.

Ronon shrugged. "Had to find the water."

Rodney uncapped the canteen, then reached over and gently shook John's shoulder. "John, wake up. Ronon's back with the water."

John shifted and blinked, eyes narrowed against the glare. "Water?"

"Yeah, here." Rodney lifted John's head and helped him drink. He pulled it away after John had a few swallows. "Now get some more rest."

"'kay."

Rodney waited until John was asleep again and motioned Ronon off to the side. "We may have a problem."

"What?"

"The first time he woke he couldn't feel his legs." Rodney watched as Ronon processed the information.

"Had that happen once. Fell down a cliff. Had to drag myself to a cave. Took three days before I could walk again."

Rodney started to comment on that, but his attention drifted to John. At first he thought he was seeing things until John twitched again. "Look, something's happening."

John twitched once more, a hard jerk that brought his right leg off the ground. The next several minutes were tense as the muscle spasms continued. John arched off the ground, the last contraction bowing his spine, before he went limp.

"That was different."

Ronon grunted his agreement. "Now he needs to wake up."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Teyla shivered as a cold feeling swept along her spine. She did not know what it was, but she had a hunch that it had to do with John. A rustle sounded from the shadows and the Beast tensed. Suddenly it sprang towards her. Teyla scrambled backwards even though she knew it was futile. Short of her perch, the Beast pounced on something on the floor and rose gripping a large serpent with its left hand. With a firm grip on the unlucky creature, the Beast slammed its right hand onto the serpent. The serpent started thrashing, its tail whipping furiously as the Beast drained it until it was too weak. Teyla turned her head, not wishing to watch the Beast finish its meal.

"You are … different. I can … feel you … in my head."

Teyla opened her eyes and recoiled in surprise. The Beast was inches from her and she had not felt its presence.

"You should release me."

The Beast shook its horned head. "No. Must keep you safe. Want you. Need you."

"No. You need to let me go. My mate will be here soon." Teyla slowly reached beneath her stola towards her P90, but the Beast, sensing her intent, reached out and snatched her P90 from its retaining strap then tossed it across the room. The Beast rose to its hooved feet and headed for one of the consoles. It pressed a button and shining blue-white bars rose from the floor. Now all she could do was wait.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

After some discussion, Ronon and Rodney decided to move John and themselves into the Ancient lab. Deciding on comfort and defense, Ronon led the way to the chamber where he found the water, John cradled in his arms. Looking down at his friend, Ronon was worried. John hadn't stirred since that final convulsion. He recalled Melena telling him about people that had suffered seemingly minor injuries then had a seizure similar to what they'd witnessed. Many of those people, the ones that woke up, were never the same again.

Rodney unfurled one of the blankets from the rucksack before grabbing some journey bread and checking out the chamber. Hunts had been known to take a few days on occasion so they had been given basic supplies. Ronon gently placed John on the pad and folded the end to act as a pillow. He pulled out the canteen, held it to John's mouth and allowed a small amount to flow out. He was rewarded with a swallow as John's eyelashes fluttered.

"C'mon Sheppard, quit being lazy and open your eyes."

John blinked a few times to focus. "Ronon?"

"Yep. How do you feel?" Ronon casually placed one hand on John's leg.

Rodney came over and hovered behind Ronon as John took his time answering.

"Head still hurts, but not as bad." John's eyes widened suddenly and his gaze snapped to Ronon's face. "I can feel your hand." He shifted both legs to test his motion.

Rodney let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "See, I told you it was probably a pinched nerve."

"Yes, Rodney, you did."

John made to stand up, but Rodney placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, no. You're not going anywhere yet. You need to rest and eat something."

John took the chunk of journey bread being waved in his face. "Yes, Mom."

Rodney huffed. "I'm not your mother. No son of mine would only have a Master's Degree."

John glanced up at him slyly. "Who said I only have a Master's?"

Rodney sputtered as John grinned. "What, but… how did you get a Ph.D.?"

"The usual way. I earned it."

"In what, 1001 Uses of Hair Gel?"

John shook his head. "Aerodynamic engineering."

"Figures it would have to do with flying. You are so predictable sometimes."

John dusted his hands off and stood with a wince. "Let's go. We have a monster to take down and a teammate to save."

Ronon handed John a canteen. "Filled them up."

John took his and tucked it in his tac vest. "Thanks, Chewie."

The trio headed into the lab, unaware of the Belosians closing in outside.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Dexcian and his troops rolled to a stop outside the labyrinth. Eclus motioned him over.

"My lord, one of the Lanteans is injured." He pointed to a smear of blood on the rock wall.

Bentus peered at the stain. "No matter. They will accomplish the task or we shall pry their weapons from their fingers and do it ourselves."

Dexcian was amazed. It was obvious that Ducis did not choose his guards for their intelligence. He spun and addressed his men. "Leave the cage here and prepare for battle. We shall enter the labyrinth and follow the Lanteans. Be prepared for any eventuality. Leave any unnecessary equipment behind."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

John, Ronon and Rodney made good time through the labyrinth. They could see where previous attempts to capture or kill it had met with less than stellar success. In the dim light of the torches it would have been difficult to navigate the twisting corridors that gave the lab the name labyrinth. With the complex powered up, the turns were easy to see and the Beast's path showed clearly.

_Hang in there, Teyla. I'm coming to find you._ John suppressed the various aches and pains from his collision with the unforgiving rock. He had to keep moving no matter how much his head hurt or his back and legs ached. He had to find Teyla.


	9. A Mother's Sacrifice

A Mother's Sacrifice

By Kickstand75

"Colonel Carter, come in." An insistent voice interrupted Sam's pleasant dream of last summer's vacation spent fishing with Jack for the second time. She was still getting used to being on duty 24-7 and had only barely remembered to turn her radio up last night before turning in. Rubbing her eyes and braiding her hair back quickly, she fitted her ear-piece firmly in place and answered Chuck before he could call her again.

"Chuck, it's 0400, this better be important."

"Ma'am, there's been unscheduled gate activity for the last hour now, and we really—"

Sam hastily cut off what was sure to be a lengthy explanation from her most experienced gate technician.

"I'll be right there. Give me five minutes."

Knowing time for a shower was out, she pulled on her boots and headed out the door. Sam's quarters were a little further away than most of the senior staff in Atlantis. When she arrived, she'd been offered Elizabeth's old living space, but somehow that seemed wrong to move in there. She couldn't hope to compete with the ghost of their former commander, but she hoped to at least prove herself competent in leading a command of this size and scope. The one great thing about the far walk to the control tower is it gave her a chance to admire the view. She'd been here almost a month now and still was in awe of the beauty of this city. She missed her team desperately, but these days they were only a quick email burst away, and would come at a moment's notice if the situation ever called for it.

She headed up the final steps to the control tower and put on what she liked to refer to as her 'Person in Charge' face. It was hard enough being a woman in the military, let alone being the one in charge of everything. She'd learned from Jack over the years that looking like you knew what you were doing was half the battle in getting people to listen to you.

"Chuck, what's going on?" Sam called out, rounding the last few steps up to the control room and trying to stifle a yawn.

"Well, ma'am, we're not exactly sure. There's been unscheduled activity from M4A-337. The gate has been dialing every few minutes for the last hour with no communication from Colonel Sheppard's team. It just dials, we wait for the right IDC, and then the gate shuts off only to dial again in a few minutes."

In his four years with the Atlantis Expedition, Chuck had definitely seen some wild things and he'd learned the hard way not to unnecessarily call for reinforcements. But he'd also learned to trust his instincts and something about this seemed a little off.

"Have you tried to send a transmission through yet? From everything we gathered before sending the team through, this should just be a standard meet and greet type mission—" She left her sentence hanging in the hope Chuck would either have something else to tell her or that someone would take pity on the early hour and hand her a cup of coffee.

"We've tried." Chuck fiddled around with the computer interface, sending another transmission through the gate, which had just completed another cycle of dialing. "There's no response and Colonel Sheppard's team isn't showing up on any scans. We're awaiting your command to send a MALP through next."

She bit back an irritated comment that was probably not appropriate for one in command, and instead answered with a dry, "That's a go for the MALP, Chuck."

It seemed that longer than fifteen minutes had passed since Sam's approval for the MALP and the actual arrival of the machine, but in reality only about five minutes had passed. She was still adjusting to the much faster, streamlined process Atlantis' inhabitants had adopted in absence of political red-tape that so often burdened the SGC. She caught the whiff of coffee right before she heard Sheppard's second in command bounding up the steps in a manner that belied it was only a few minutes past sunrise.

"Colonel, sorry I'm a few minutes late, but I thought you could use a mug," Lorne smiled kindly at her as he handed over a steaming hot large mug.

"Forgiven, Major, and thank you. This is very much appreciated." Sam looked over to Chuck and nodded final approval for the MALP to go through.

Marinel adjusted the now sleeping infant closer. In a few short months, Astrea had grown plump and was too heavy to carry for long distances one handed. She thanked the gods that her daughter had fussed little through her hasty preparations to go. She steeled herself against the sobs that wanted to come and tried instead to focus on Dexcian's final wish for her to escape. In the end, she packed only enough to fit into one small sack tied upon her back. She strapped Astrea into the carrier Dexcian had fashioned for her when she was born to leave her hands free, and took hold of Marcus' hand.

It was still dark when she set out from their house, Marcus drowsy with sleep. She had warned him just before leaving that he must remain silent. Dexcian had advised her to take paths less traveled so that she wouldn't draw attention to herself, a married woman unaccompanied. As she walked one final time down the long dusty path, she whispered goodbye to her home and the memories that had been captured within its walls. In it, she'd found love, motherhood, and a place of acceptance where so many of her childhood friends had not been so lucky. As her feet tread upon the road she would never walk again, she shed silent tears and did not look back.

Marinel knew her time was running short for escape as the first hints of color kissed the horizon. She worried she'd taken too much time. The descent down into the village had lasted longer than she expected with a heavy backpack, fussy infant, and two year old with her. She had done as Dexcian had requested and taken a maze of pathways through back alleys and winding side streets through the village. She'd encountered no one so far, but she knew her greatest challenge still lay ahead.

Before his last kiss, Dexcian had crammed last minute instructions into her. The Dux wanted to leave nothing to chance, he had relayed, and had posted two guards at the Ring the night prior. Dexcian seemed to believe that she would find a way to incapacitate them and dial the gate. She herself was much less certain that a way could be found. Long years of being nothing but a slave could not easily be washed away from her mind. Her confidence had been bolstered somewhat in the few short years she had learned to call Dexcian something other than Master, but she truly hoped that when the time came she would find the courage to do what needed to be done.

She took a deep, steadying breath and reminded herself of the fact that this was what must be done. She'd finally reached the wide open, grassy fields that surrounded the Ring of the Gods. As of now, she was hidden from the guard's view. Years ago, the Dux had ordered the fields to lie fallow around the ring thinking it would give his guards an advantage to hide in. Marinel could not recall a time when the fields had been last harvested. Nothing existed now but tall, willowy stalks of wheat grass gently blowing in the morning breezes. A narrow path beaten down each month by slaves ran the length of the fields from town to ring.

From her slight vantage point she could easily spy the two guards who were posted at the ring. She thought they looked barely beyond their first razor. She hoped that it would mean an easier time getting past them. A small plan was forming in her mind, but it would rest on a large risk. One she wasn't certain she could bring herself to accept, much less implement. Her hands shook as she brushed aside the stray curl on Astrea's forehead. Her children's fates rested on her courage alone. She placed a gentle kiss on the babe's cheek and undid the knots holding the carrier in place.

Knowing time was of the essence, and Dexcian's last wish for her was to escape, she knelt down next to her son, who was barely visible in the oversized grass. "Marcus, do you remember the song that we sing every night before bed?" She knew this was the child's favorite song due to the fun sounds in it. Just last week his attempts to sing the silly lullaby with her had brought a smile to Astrea's face.

When Marcus nodded his remembrance, she continued, "I need you to be a big boy for Mama. Will you sit here and sing to your sister? You will need to sing quietly to keep her calm and sleepy. There is something I must do before we can continue our walk." The last thing Marinel wanted was to leave them untended, but her escape plan hinged on having little distractions and both hands free. She unstrapped Astrea from her carrier, but left her swaddled tightly. Thankfully, the exhausted little one didn't stir.

"Marcus, I want you to count slowly to ten once Mama walks away and begin singing, do you understand?" She placed a kiss on his head as well, tucked a stray edge from Astrea's blankets, stood up, and walked away from them, intent on reaching the gate before the sun was fully risen. She heard the quiet voice of her son begin to sing the words of the lullaby _The sun sleeps on the mountains, And the partridge in the woods, Let also my baby sleep, To get enough of sleep._She wiped the tears from her eyes and did not look back at her small children hidden now within the tangled stalks.

Marinel slowly made her way down the path through the sea of grass. The guards had spotted her a few moments ago, but were not leaving their post. The time was nearly here to call out to them and use years of ingrained culture against them. She hoped it would turn out that way anyway. She wondered if she had been too long valued to play the part of a downtrodden woman and slave. While she did not speak her mind in front of others, she had come to enjoy the freedom she received while married to Dexcian. Her plan hinged on the inexperienced youth of the guard and their desire to increase status within the Belosian rank.

"Hello?" She hailed the guards as they came into hearing distance and hoped her face showed one of proper deference and fear. Years with Dexcian may have dulled this necessity while alone with him, but it was not an attitude she had to work hard to re-establish. The rounded shoulders and bowed head were a stance she'd never lost completely when in public.

"Woman, this area has been restricted for traverse by order of the Dux himself. You dare to defy his order?" The taller of the two stepped close to her with his spear pointed directly at her.

A quick glance at the second guard revealed he was alert, but not yet stepping forward. Good, she thought, she needed him to stay out of the conversation for another minute. .

"Sir, I meant no harm. My protector was called to the palace this morning. He bid me to come with him and then changed his mind and told me to go home." She peeked up at the guard from her downcast eyes and saw he least was not going to run her through with the spear right away. She allowed a small noise which she believed sounded helpless and continued on with her story. "I made the first few turns correctly, but then I became confused with the noises, people, and sights on the road. It overwhelmed me. My protector does not often let me leave the house, sir. I found myself at the edge of this grass. From the distance, I could see you. It looked the only peaceful place which I might ask for help—" She let her words trail off and dared a full look at the guards.

"Slave, you speak too long. What is it you need us for exactly?" The shorter guard had finally joined the conversation. She ignored him for now as he seemed the more intractable of the two and directed the reply to the one closest to her.

"My protector is a powerful man in the Belosian guard, if you would but lead me to the correct path back towards the palace, I could perhaps figure out where I went wrong. Sir, my protector would be indebted to you, I am certain, if you did this for his prized slave." Dexcian had often told her stories of the young guards vying for higher rank. The outlandish favors and offers they made him made no difference to him, but they had no way of knowing this information.

"Who is your protector, slave?" The gleam in his eye told Marinel she had picked the right way to pit these men against one another. Now she need only wait for the right opportunity.

"His name is Dexcian Navis. I was told to never speak his name as he is reported to be loyal to his family, but I must get back to our house before I am missed. I am afraid he will beat me severely if he discovers I have not returned directly as he bid me." She prayed to the gods that her husband would forgive the lie against his character.

The taller of the guards stepped back from her and she could hear them discussing her story heatedly between themselves. Her acting and lies were rewarded when she saw the shorter of the guards, whose name she'd heard was Adrastos, grab the second guard and throw him to the ground.

"Lykon, even if we are rewarded greatly in returning this slave, we have only her word to go on. She could be anyone. We cannot abandon our post, especially not for one such as she."

Marinel resisted the urge to flinch hearing the derision and hatred he put into the word she. She could not become distracted when she was so close to escape. She watched as the tall guard, Lykon, stood to his feet and threw a punch, connecting with Adrastos' face soundly. As she'd hoped, in the heat of the argument, his youth had caused him to abandon training protocol, leaving his weapon two feet from her. While the two men were distracted fighting, she inched forward and picked up the spear.

She had noted from far away that these men were lightly armored. There was no reason for them to wear the full regalia so far from what the Dux perceived as danger. In the heat of the morning, they had neglected to put on even the light leather vests that Dexcian insisted his men wore at once upon waking. Her hands shook as she gauged the moment to use the spear. Years of carrying water, attending to household duties, and now being a mother had honed the muscles of her arms. She knew she would not fare well against the brute strength of most of the guard, but these men were distracted, arguing with each other. She had one chance to get this right. If she chose wrong, both she, her children, and if he wasn't already, her husband would be dead within the day for her betrayal.

The two men seemed to have come to an agreement. They were leaned in to one another, hands upon one another's shoulders, foreheads bent in together, in a sign of agreement and brotherhood. Such was the state of women in her society, that neither one noticed her or the spear raised and pointed at Lykon's back.  
>Both men dropped to the ground wordlessly. She had pierced both through the heart with one thrust.<p>

She dropped to the ground beside the still, lifeless bodies of the guards. It was one thing to hear about death from her husband, for surely she did on almost a daily basis, but another to know that she was the one who had taken life. Years of her place in society as a woman had allowed her to view atrocities committed against women as well, but never had she imagined death to look like this. The dry, dirt covered ground around the ring had absorbed most of the blood from the wound. The guards could almost be knocked unconscious she thought except for the spear which still protruded from their prone forms. She closed their eyes, prayed a silent prayer over their souls and hers for what she had done, and began running back on the path to her babies.

The sun was full in the sky and Marinel wondered if her husband had been mistaken in the symbols he'd had her memorize the night before. She believed the Ring was working as each time it flooded a blue substance outward exactly as he'd said, but Dexcian had told her to not walk through the Ring unless she heard a voice authorizing permission for her to do so first. After over an hour of trying, that voice never came. She resolved to try one more time before she would need to feed Astrea.

Before her hand connected with the first symbol, the Ring began dialing on its own. When the blue flood became calm, to her surprise what looked like a wagon came through. It lumbered slowly down the walkway and came to rest a short distance before her. The wagon was unlike any she had ever seen.

"Colonel Sheppard, come in." Marinel startled at the wagon that was now speaking to her. She hadn't seen anyone inside it, but it was enclosed entirely. She supposed someone could still be hiding.

"Colonel Sheppard, Teyla, please come in? Is there anyone from Colonel Sheppard's team listening? We can see a young woman, two children, and what looks to be two dead men to the left, but please confirm your identity before further action is taken."

At the mention of the name Teyla, Marinel recalled Dexcian's words of the group of strangers he had been ordered to either kill or capture. Since this Colonel had been mentioned twice, she wondered if he was the one in charge. The one her husband had been tasked to kill because it was the only way for the Dux to take possession of his wife, Teyla.

"Colonel Sheppard isn't here, whoever you are. He was taken, along with his wife and two others to fight the Beast." Dexcian had assured her that the symbols he had given her would bring help and she decided that honesty with the wagon operator was probably the best. She tightened her hold on Astrea and held fast to the little hand that had slipped into hers a moment ago.

"His wife? Miss, I don't know who you are, but if you know why the Gate has been dialing Atlantis for the last hour, you'd better let us know."

Marinel didn't think the voice sounded unkind, just confused, as was she. Gate? Atlantis? These were words that she was unfamiliar with and it made her feel more than a little unsettled. The legend of sanctuary for her people had never made mention of either word.

She tried again, "My husband, Protector Dexcian Navis, guard in the Dux's Belosian elite, told me that I would receive help if I pressed the symbols on the Ring. I mean no harm to you. I am merely obeying his command that I escape whatever fate awaits me if he should fall at the hands of the Beast today. He is trying to help the man you mentioned before, Colonel Sheppard. May I come through to sanctuary?"Five minutes passed before Marinel heard the wagon operator again. She breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the voice give permission to walk through the Ring.

"Miss, you've our permission to come through. However, we will need to have you re-dial the gate to walk through it." The voice perplexed her. It was still speaking much in the way of gibberish to her, but as the strange wagon's operator had not appeared and tried to hurt her yet, she decided they may be telling her the truth. The blue Ring went silent and transparent again as she looked over at it from the symbol device.

She pressed the large center button on the stone pedestal that activated the Ring and pushed the symbols in the same repeated order she had been pressing them for the last hour or so. When the Ring whooshed blue, she made her way up the walkway, only pausing briefly to draw in a held breath before stepping through.

Sam stared down at the young woman who had just walked through the Gate. Her eyes, along with that of a young boy holding on to her hand, were huge and scared. Knowing that looks could often be deceiving, Sam left the Marines guarding the gate, but silently nodded for them to stand at ease. She didn't think this woman dangerous, but from the reports she had been reading, in the Pegasus galaxy, you could never be so sure from first glance only.

"Welcome to Atlantis, miss. We understand it's been you this last hour dialing the gate? And that you have information regarding our team?"

The young woman looked up at Sam with an expression of awe. She wondered what that was about, and then chuckled to herself thinking she was slowly becoming more like Daniel when she asked herself those types of questions about someone's motivations and history.

"Yes, or at least I believe I do. Is there a place I could settle my children first? They have long been up this day already and in the sun for the last two hours of the day." Though Marinel was awed at the person who had been allowed to speak for the people before her and at the sheer beauty of the room in which she'd stepped, she was a mother first. Her son was standing close by and from the pressure of his hand in hers, was becoming extremely nervous at all the people staring at them. Astrea was beginning to truly fuss again, making her preferences for a midday meal known. After everything she had endured this day already, her exhaustion and anxiety made her speak boldly on behalf of her little ones.

"Chuck, would you inform the staff sergeant that we'll need a private meal sent to the conference room? Major Lorne, you're with me, and you Zelenka." The scientist had wandered into the control tower minutes ago when he'd heard news at breakfast of the gate dialing from M4A-337. "Miss, would you both please follow us? I believe we have a room where you can rest and eat if you're hungry. Oh, and Chuck, call Doctor Keller, please? I believe she'll want to check over our visitors as soon as possible."

She waited until the young woman was behind her and turned to enter the conference room, very nearly forgetting that without Sheppard she needed to wave to open the doors. Sam watched as the young mother settled in first her son, then tried to calm the crying infant who she'd just removed from her carrier. The baby was younger than Sam had first thought and she suspected the reason for the crying.

"Miss, er, I'm sorry, what is your name?"

"Marinel, ma'am, and my son Marcus, and daughter Astrea."

"Marinel," Sam corrected and smiled at her, "My name is Colonel Samantha Carter. I'm in charge of the city. It's called Atlantis. Your baby, does she need to eat? I ordered a meal for you and your son to share, but your little one probably wouldn't like it too much." Sam trailed off a little awkwardly. She'd never had an infant to nurse, but felt sure this was the reason for the child's crying.

"She is overdue to feed, but in my society the men," Marinel nodded to Lorne and Zelenka, "do not usually appreciate the visual evidence of such."

For the second time, Sam found herself wondering at the story of this young woman sitting stiffly across the table from her. She tamped down her own curiosity and focused on the task at hand - the mystery of the dialing gate.

"Major, Zelenka, do either of you have objections to Marinel tending to her infant while we hear her information?" Both men agreed that it was nothing to them and Sam considered the matter settled. They'd both come from backgrounds where speaking to women who were nursing infants was an accepted fact of life.

After the baby was settled and happily nursing, Sam opened the conversation. "Marinel, I think you have a few things to tell us?"

Sam sat back in her chair and mentally reviewed everything Marinel had just told them. If this young woman could be believed, and Sam saw no reason she shouldn't be, Colonel Sheppard and his team were in grave danger and time was of the highest importance.

"Marinel, we will honor your husband's wish and grant you temporary sanctuary here in Atlantis." Sam looked to the back of the room and noted the arrival of Doctor Keller. No doubt her chief medical officer would want to check out the newest arrivals before they were allowed to be escorted to temporary quarters.

"Doctor Keller, I would like you to meet Marinel, and her children, Marcus and Astrea. They will be staying with us temporarily. Marinel, this is our foremost healer in the city, Doctor Jennifer Keller. Jennifer, I'll leave it up to you where our visitors should head next?"

"Major Lorne, I'd like you to gather your team, plus a team of Marines for backup to go through the gate in a jumper." Before Zelenka could interrupt her that he too should go, she also added, "Zelenka, you can go, but to monitor the systems from the jumper, only. Am I clear?" She knew the Czech scientist was excited to hear of something that sounded like an Ancient lab and could only imagine what McKay's take on the installation would be. No doubt she would be subjected to a wordy written and first hand report when he returned.

"Lorne?" Sam stood up and moved to the door, "I want you ready to fly through the gate in less than a half hour."

"Understood, Colonel." Lorne was first out the door, already calling on the comm's for his team to prepare.

The healer looked to be not much older than her, Marinel thought to herself. This in itself wasn't a marvel to her. There were younger women who had risen slightly above others in her society, mostly from a willingness to show cruelty to other, less fortunate women in the Dux's palace seraglio. The amazement stemmed from the calm presence and direct eye contact in one so seemingly young.

"Marinel, since Colonel Carter left it up to me, I'd like to perform a short exam here to ensure your well-being, let you rest for a while, then we can conduct a full exam later on tonight." Marinel's thoughts were interrupted by a gentle voice.

"Exam?" Marinel gripped Astrea a little bit tighter, not understanding exactly what was meant. She kept eye contact with the healer as she crossed the room and knelt down beside them.

"Don't worry, this isn't going to hurt you or your babies at all. In fact, I won't even need to take your little one from you." Jennifer reached over to thumb a stray lock of hair from the sleeping baby's forehead. "Her name is Astrea, right? I'm going to listen to her heart, check her ears, nose, and mouth. With any luck, she won't even wake up. Then next, we'll see about you, so your son won't be scared, and finish up with him. Sound like a plan?"

Marinel breathed out a sigh she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Here, in this extraordinary city Dexcian had unwittingly sent them to was safety, life, and kindness. She desperately wanted to trust that all would be well, but with so much hanging in the balance that would most likely be a fool's decision. Still, it seemed that the legend of a safe haven was proving true. She had but glimpsed soaring spires from the windows before they had ushered her into this windowless room. The people she had seen and spoken with seemed neither scared nor cowering, but rather confident and in control. Her realm of experience told her that these small observations could be deceptive, but over the years as Dexcian's wife she had learned to hone her instincts; Instincts which had saved her countless hurts many times over. Her eyes flicked down to the capable hands which had continued to gently check over her little one while she was lost in thought. She allowed herself a small hope-filled smile.

"Mama," Marcus whined, looking up at her, tugging on her bedraggled dress, "when is Papa coming to take us home? I just want to go home now, please?"

Marinel's heart broke for her son, knowing that most likely returning home would never be an option for them. She steeled herself against the tears that would come if she gave in for one moment. Self-pity was not for her this day. She had fought so hard to win their freedom. Still, her son was young and did not yet realize all she had sacrificed to be here in this city of legend.

"Sweetheart, I pray with all my heart that your father arrives soon to be with us. I promise you, even if it with his dying breath, he will come for us. But until he comes, I need you to be brave and strong with Mama. Can you do that for me?" When he nodded his head in assent, she ruffled his hair as she'd always done to comfort him. Her son, she vowed, would grow to be an extraordinary man, full of wisdom, and without the cruelty that was their world. Their daughter would know nothing of being lesser than livestock, or of being beaten for speaking out of turn. Even if Dexcian never returned to them, she knew that here in this city her family would flourish.

"All done with your little one, Marinel. Now it's your turn," Doctor Keller said. "Open up, we'll do your throat first, if that's ok?"

Marinel dutifully opened her mouth for the exam, and sent a silent plea to the heavens that Dexcian was ok and that her promise to her son would indeed come to pass. Hang on Dexcian, she thought, come home to us; For without you, there is no home.


	10. Of Rulemaking and Inheritance

**.**

**Chapter 10 – Of Rulemaking and Inheritance**

**by: Mysra  
><strong>

**.**

xo

Ducis drummed nervously on his desk. His spy had informed him that Dexcian had reached the caves. He had hoped that the Beast would be drawn out of the caves by the strangers. The caves held many secrets and Ducis wanted to keep at least a few of them.

He stood up and started to pace, his thoughts traveling back in time.

"_You will be the next." _

_His father thumped him on the shoulder and Ducis couldn't help but grin. He had passed manhood only a short while ago, but he had learned as a young boy that only the favorite got to be the next ruler. But to become the favorite was not an easy task, as his father was easily bored. He had many wives and even more sons from them. But Ducis had learned to hold his father's attention, being even more ruthless and demanding than his brothers. He had always been an outstanding apprentice, whether in the scholar's tutelary rooms or the bedroom._

"_I am pleased to find your approval."_

_His father nodded and started to walk. "Today you will learn why our family has always been the strongest." His father hedged as he led him towards his private library. He shooed the slaves and guards away and closed the door behind them. Ducis stopped in the room while his father moved towards his desk. _

_He waited for his father to tell him to sit, but instead his father walked toward the shelf. Once there, he reached for something. _

_Ducis jumped slightly when the shelf groaned and folded to the side. _

_His father turned, grinning. "Now come on." _

_Ducis nodded and followed his father into a secret passageway._

Now, Ducis stopped in front of said shelf. He needed to do something. He couldn't risk Dexcian discovering what lay hidden in the Beast's lair. It be even worse if the strangers found it.

"Protector Casus," he yelled as loud as he could. It only took a few moments for the wing doors to this sacred retreat to fly open.

"Master," his most trusted servant and leader of his guard greeted, getting down on one knee while bowing his head.

"I need you to gather twenty of your best men. The ones you trust the most."

"Yes, Dux."

"Arm them well." Casus head snapped up. "We are going after the strangers and Dexcian. The Beast lured them into the labyrinth."

Understanding dawned on Casus face and his gaze moved to the shelf. "I'll be back in soon," Casus returned and then gave another nod, his face set in stone. Casus knew that whoever he chose would not come back alive. Only the leader of the guard was allowed to know and live.

* * *

><p>John's arm shot up, and Ronon and Rodney skittered to a stop behind him. He turned to find Rodney doubled over, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.<p>

John shot an irritated look at Ronon, who shrugged. He hadn't run that fast, had he?

Rodney straightened, his face sweaty and red.

"Sorry," John mumbled in a low voice. He turned and looked around the corner. The light grew brighter in the area and John felt the typical tingle of Ancient tech at the back of his mind intensify, telling him that the area in front seemed to be getting more energy, or was at least in active use.

He bit the inside of his cheek, taking in the corridor. There was no cover and he had no idea where the Beast actually was, though the noise of its steps echoed from the room into the corridor. There was no telling if it was further in the room or right inside the door watching out. Did it know or suspect they were coming?

John turned back to find his teammates watching him intently.

"There's no cover," he whispered. "Do you get anything Rodney?"

While Rodney fumbled in his pocket, Ronon moved past him to take a look too. He turned back and both looked at Rodney expectantly.

"Nothing," Rodney groused, glowering at the LSD.

John closed his eyes, thinking hard. It wouldn't be as bad if they found another way, but the only way in there was the way down the corridor.

"Rodney, stay here," he ordered. He looked at Ronon. There was no need for words, Ronon just nodded. Rodney looked panicked and clutched his P-90, but nodded too.

Another look around the corner showed a still empty corridor. John slowly crept forward, his eyes trained on the lab entrance. He moved further into the corridor. He sensed Ronon a step behind to his right, his gun visible in John's peripheral vision.

They stopped right outside the door. John looked back, seeing that Rodney too had crept forward. He waved at him to get back. Rodney looked surprised and turned, apparently just realizing how far he had moved from cover. He jumped and quickly scampered around the corner again and out of sight. John sighed and dropped his shaking head to his chest. He hoped Rodney would stay where he was supposed to be. Ronon shifted, dragging John's attention back to the task at hand.

John looked at Ronon. His hand in motion communicating his plan, the Satedan smirked but nodded his agreement. They flattened against the wall, lifting their guns. John risked another glance back to make sure Rodney was nowhere in sight. Then he looked at Ronon, again giving a nod.

John tensed and then propelled forward. His P-90 ready to shoot, he passed the door and flattened himself against the wall on the other side. He held his breath for a moment, waiting for a hint that he had been discovered, but everything stayed calm.

Again his eyes connected to Ronon, who had moved into John's position on the other side. Ronon shook his head slightly, telling John that he too thought they hadn't been discovered. John took a deep breath. He carefully inched around the corner to look in the room while Ronon moved into the corridor further, his gun trained on the door.

"Clear," John breathed as he moved through the door, his gun always ready. The room looked like one of the bigger hallways. On the left side was a staircase, leading to a gangway that stretched over the entire hallway directly above him. Could the Beast be up there? He listened again.

Ronon tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to a doorway on their right. John nodded his agreement. The noises of hooves moving over the concrete-like floor were coming from that direction. He was glad to find at least a few hiding possibilities. For a moment, he considered getting Rodney in here. But it would take too much time and the risk of getting caught was too high.

There was no need to tell Ronon what to do; the two understood each other without a word. They carefully moved forward. There was a small corridor, once more leading into a bigger room. This one, however, was stuffed with Ancient tech. Consoles and tables lined the walls. In the middle of the room stood an ancient exam bed with work stations at both ends.

A growl had both men diving for cover. They clearly were on the right track. They heard heavy breathing and the sounds of hooves coming closer. John hoped the Beast wouldn't smell them or something. He looked out from behind a chair tucked under the table he'd hidden beneath. Ronon had dove into an alcove across the room. The bad news, however, was that a light had turned on the moment Ronon had ducked in, and closing the door would also attract attention. John fervently hoped Ronon would find the light switch and fast.

Before John had even finished his thought the light died and Ronon was safely hidden, better than him anyway. He pressed against the wall. His hair stood at attention. The Beast had entered the room. It was growling. John held his breath. Was Teyla with it?

Suddenly, the Beast's hooves came into view. John tried to melt into the wall. He wouldn't attack without knowing where Teyla was. The Beast stopped and John heard a sound that reminded him of his horse sniffing the air.

Oh crap, he thought. He gripped his P-90 tight and was just about to bring it forward when what sounded like an alarm back home went off. The Beast howled angrily.

"My home. Not welcome," it growled as it set off, hurrying toward the exit and Rodney. He quickly crawled out from under the table. He heard Ronon mumble, apparently warning Rodney to hide.

"Teyla has to be here somewhere," John said in a low voice.

Ronon nodded keeping an eye on the corridor they had come through and the beast had vanished into a moment ago.

"I think we're clear," Ronon said moving further out of his hiding.

John eyed the opposite door that lead deeper into the Beast's lair. Raising his hand to signal Ronon wordlessly.

The two quickly moved forward and took position on the door's side, using the minimal cover it gave. John raised his P-90 and after another nod from Ronon he flew into the next room, while Ronon covered him.

"John," Teyla called as soon as he was on the other side. The relief was easy traceable in her face and John could only agree. He moved closer to the pedestal that was surrounded by light bars. Ronon took position just inside the door now looking out for any signs of the return of the Beast. John took in the consoles; one had to be the control to switch the energies bars off, trapping Teyla.

"He was at that …" Teyla started to say as she pointed at a console, but the bars flickered and then vanished. John couldn't help grin. Before he could walk towards Teyla, she was down the platform throwing herself at him. His arms closed around her automatically as he hugged her back.

"I feared ..." she started to say easing back a bit to take him in.

"Well, I have a hard head," he smirked.

A cough reminded them where they were and that they weren't alone, so they quickly let go.

"We should go before that thing comes back," Ronon stated. He grinned at his teammates. John nodded, thoughtful. "Here," Ronon said, handing Teyla her P-90. "Think it's broken?"

John took the weapon gave it a quick once over. A howl had him looking at the door. "Should be ok," he said, handing the weapon back to Teyla.

"You still want to kill that thing?"

"I'm certainly not planning on handing it to King Crazy up there alive. But I don't think our weapons will do." John fished in his vest, glad the Belosians had been ignorant and left his C4 with him. He broke the block into half and then half again. "No need to bring the whole building down on us."

"That would not be a good idea," Teyla agreed from her position next to the door. Ronon was on the other side looking out too. Again a howl echoed from the outside.

"Ok, let's go," John said, putting all items away again, though he kept the prepped C4 block in easy reach. He handed Teyla the remote control. She watched him intently and he was sure she was wondering how he planned to get the C4 close enough to the Beast without getting any of them killed. But she also knew there was no time to discuss the finer details right now.

When they reached the small corridor again, new sounds filled the air. People yelling and the Beast growling, as well as the sound of metal weapons hitting something.

"I told you this was a bad idea!" Rodney's voice carried clearly through the air.

John froze for a second and then started to run, knowing Teyla and Ronon were right behind them. They burst into the hallway and into chaos.

There already lay several people along the walls. About fifteen were around the Beast, Spartacus right next to Rodney, obviously trying to keep him safe. The Beast howled again and John realized that some of the men held the black cylinders he'd seen Ducis use. Teyla's hand grabbed his arm and her nails dug through his jacket. Her eyes were wide open in terror, her gaze fixed on the black cylinders. God help him if that had been used on her.

"Teyla?" he asked.

It took a moment before she reacted. "I have seen Ducis use it on some poor woman."

John nodded, relieved. He turned back to the fight. The Beast swung his arm in an attempt to get the attackers off it.

"Shoot," John ordered. "Rodney!" John yelled and the scientist's gaze snapped to him. "Shoot!"

Rodney looked surprised for a moment and then fumbled for his P-90. Rodney looked at the Beast, then at the people around. Spartacus grabbed the gun, obviously understanding that Rodney was't very confident that he wouldn't kill someone he hadn't meant to. The Belosian warrior lifted the gun and aimed at the Beast's head. Teyla and John did the same.

"Take cover," John yelled. He heard Spartacus repeat the order to his men. The men dove away.

The Beast roared again. It grabbed one man that had tried to get away and threw him into Spartacus and Rodney. When it grabbed for a second despite being shot at, John was sure that bullets were barely doing any harm, most likely ricocheting off its hard skin and hitting the men on the ground. With the attackers on the other side incapacitated, it turned and froze. Its gazed fixed on Teyla.

"Mine!" it yelled. John let his gun drop to his chest, grabbing for Teyla as the Beast lunged in their direction.

"Sheppard!" Ronon yelled. Luckily, John was fast enough to grab the C4 from his pocket and throw the block at him. The Beast flung its arm out. John turned his arms, surrounding Teyla in a protective circle. He felt something tug at his vest and then pain exploded through his back. He tightened his grasp on Teyla and then they were flying.

* * *

><p>"This was a stupid idea," Rodney groused for the hundredth time. He should have gone with them, but no, he had to stay behind. It was like being picked last in high school and then having to sit on the bench most of the time, since there were too many to play anyway. He looked around the corner yet again.<p>

"Do not move."

Rodney jumped and couldn't help a squeak of surprise come out. He turned slowly to come face to face with Spartacus and his men.

"You've got to be kidding me," he huffed, his head falling to his chest.

"Be quiet," Spartacus barked.

"EXCUSE ME?"

Spartacus slapped his hand over Rodney's mouth, the other grabbing his arm.

"You do not wish to get the Beast's attention? Do you?"

Rodney slowly shook his head. Spartacus nodded and took his hand from Rodney mouth, but he kept a tight grasp on his arm. He spun the scientist around.

"Now," Spartacus whispered. "Where is your leader?"

Rodney just pointed forward and Spartacus started to move, dragging him along. They quickly reached the door.

"I don't think we should go in there," Rodney whispered. To no avail. The hallway was empty, to Rodney's relief. His relief quickly faded when Spartacus dragged him further into the hallway. The group moved slowly, obviously impressed by the sight. Suddenly Rodney's comm crackled.

"Get your butt safe, McKay." Ronon's voice was low and urgent, sending shudders down his spine.

"Uuhhh, I think we shou …" Rodney didn't get to finish. They heard the Beast howl and it sounded close, very close. Rodney froze.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly the Beast burst through a doorway. Rodney was surprised when the group quickly found a formation and started to fight. Spartacus kept Rodney close, grabbing him every time he wanted to bolt and pulling him behind him.

Rodney was impressed when they hadn't all died within minutes of the Beast's arrival. He watched from behind Spartacus as his men fought, circling the Beast. They had what looked like little black cylinders. These seemingly had quite an effect on the Beast, though it didn't stop it from knocking people out of its way. Most hit the wall and stayed where they landed on the floor.

Time seemed to pass slowly and Rodney couldn't tell if two minutes had passed or twenty.

"Rodney!"

Rodney's gaze snapped up to the direction John's voice had come from. Right, he had a gun. He took aim, but then realized all the people standing around. What if he hit them instead?

Before he could aim again, Spartacus grabbed the gun and Rodney had just enough time to unhook the gun and hide behind Spartacus. The next things passed in a blur and then Spartacus was pushed into him, taking him down too.

When Rodney managed to get free again, he realized what exactly had brought him down. He scrambled away. Looking up, though, proved to be a mistake. He caught the Beast striking out at John. He could make out Teyla in John's arms. At first, it looked like the Beast had missed, but suddenly John was airborne. He skidded to a stop with Teyla on top of him.

Rodney's gaze snapped to the Beast, and he was horrified to see Ronon tackle the thing. Of course, it threw him off and he landed close to John. The Beast closed in on John and Teyla, when suddenly the sound of a P-90 sounded again. Spartacus had moved without Rodney realizing it and was now trying to get the Beast away from his team members. Rodney wondered what to do. There were barely any people moving anymore.

The Beast turned on Spartacus and closed in. Suddenly, the fire stopped and Spartacus looked at the gun in his hand. The Beast used his distraction and Spartacus too was sent flying. He stopped in front of John and Teyla. Teyla was crouched over John, getting up again when Spartacus didn't skid closer. She looked at him for a moment and then at the Beast, relief written on her face that Spartacus had at least succeeded in getting the Beast away from them.

Her gaze snapped to him. "Rodney, hide."

He didn't need to be told twice and he dove into the closest staircase. For a long moment, there was absolute silence. The next he heard was a small explosion. It wasn't strong enough to shake the structure, but something impacted outside on the wall. He didn't even want to think about what it was.

"Rodney?" Teyla's voice sounded.

He quickly left his hiding spot, his gaze fixed on his team. Teyla sat bent over John, her hands ghosting over him. Rodney moved through the sea of bodies on the floor, purposefully looking away from the still smoking and hopefully very dead Beast's cadaver.

"Rodney," Teyla called, her voice urgent. "Make sure Ronon is alright."

* * *

><p>"Is Sheppard alright?"<p>

Teyla heard the anxiety in Rodney's voice, but there was nothing she could say that would appease him. She hadn't had the time yet to really check him through. John was barely conscious and writhing weakly on the floor in obvious pain. His breath hitched as he tried to breathe through the pain. She finally put her hands on John's chest, until now too scared to hurt him even more, but she needed the connection.

She gazed over her shoulder, glaring at Rodney. "I will tell you when I know. Now see to Ronon and our friend." She nodded in Spartacus direction. Rodney nodded once and then finally turned. Teyla watched for a moment. Suddenly, she felt John's hand touched hers on his chest. She quickly turned back.

John was watching her, his eyes glassy with pain. "Beast?" he gasped.

Teyla turned away for a moment. "I believe we succeeded in killing it."

"Good," he breathed. His eyes closed and he stopped moving. Teyla panicked for a moment, her hand quickly travelling to his cheek. "John you have to stay awake," she pleaded. His eyes opened to slits.

"I'm awake," he said, his words ending in a hiss and a groan.

"I need to know where you are hurt."

John looked at her, a smile playing on his lips. "Back, probably busted my ribs. Nothing too bad." His words were contradicted only a moment later when he squirmed and his body stiffened in pain. His eyes were pressed and his breath grew fast and shallow.

"I need to take a look at your back. Can you move to your side?"

It took a moment before John reacted and slowly nodded once. He started to move his arms, but the movement stopped abruptly and another groan slipped past his lips. His face lost the little color it had left.

"John?" Teyla asked, not able to contain her fear any longer.

"Need a moment," he said through clenched teeth. Teyla looked down. His arms were pressed to his side, his hands in fist. She hated the thought of hurting him, but she needed to check his back. That was the moment she realized that a pool of blood was slowly growing under to him. She froze, shocked. This couldn't be happening.

She took a deep breath.

"Teyla?" Rodney's panicked voice tore her gaze from John. Rodney was pressing both hands down on Spartacus' chest, right under the collarbone on the left side. "I think a bullet hit him," he said, his eyes wide. Blood was quickly pooling through Rodney's hand. So much to do and so little time.

Teyla felt John's arm flailing against her. Her head snapped back. He was watching her. "Go. Help."

Teyla shook her head, afraid John would not be here anymore if she left even for a moment.

"M'fine."

"No, you are not." She couldn't help but huff, amused.

"Need Rodney."

Teyla knew he was right.

"Ronon?" John asked a bit louder.

Teyla took his hand, straightening it out and squeezing it once before laying his arm on his chest. This way she could monitor if he was still with them. She moved over to Rodney and pulled a pressure bandage from her vest.

"Hit his head and is out cold, but you know he's got a hard head," Rodney answered, his eyes on his friend. Teyla watched his face transform to horror when his eyes strayed to John's side, spying the blood there.

"Do not let go," Teyla warned.

"Like me," John breathed behind her, distracting Rodney and probably himself. It helped Teyla to know he was conscious.

"That's debatable," Rodney returned. "You tend to get loopy."

"Not. Mr. I Do Not Faint," John mocked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I passed out," Rodney groused. Teyla slipped into Rodney's place and applied the bandage. "There's no exit wound," Rodney whispered, his eyes on John. He fumbled in his vest, pulling out more bandages.

"Whatever, McKay." John's chuckle ended on a cough that had John arch his back, which set off a chain reaction. Rodney and Teyla were at his side in seconds, pressing him down to keep him from curling in on himself. Teyla moved behind John, his head in her lap while Rodney held his legs. After a moment, he stilled. His breathing was ragged and fast.

"That sucked," he gasped.

Teyla bent over him, her lips skimming John's. She heard Rodney gasp.

"Get a room," he added in a low grumble. "Seriously now?" he trailed off.

John's eyes opened in surprise. "That helps."

"You will not get out of that talk you promised me," she threatened lightly.

"Wouldn't dream of it," John whispered.

"Care to explain what's going on?" Rodney asked, his voice disbelieving.

"I would like to know that too. I believe we had an agreement."

John groaned, surely not having a problem recognizing Ducis' voice. Rodney's head snapped around so fast Teyla had no doubt he would complain over it later.

Her concentration was on her P-90. Would she be fast enough to grab it and shoot Ducis and whoever was with him? She felt John's head shift and looked at him. He was looking at her, pleading with her. Her head snapped up when she heard Rodney squeak. He lay in a heap over John's leg. Then everything went black.

* * *

><p>Ducis started to pace again. He had no idea how many of the men sent down there still lived and there was a possibility that he needed them to get the Beast out. The door opened and Casus entered, followed by his men. They lined up and the last closed the door. When he stopped next to his comrades, they got down on one knee, right arm crossed over the chest, head bowed.<p>

Ducis looked over the men. They were loyal and wouldn't need to be told what to do, they just followed. They were strong, but not very intelligent. He passed the line and stopped in front of Casus.

"Protector Casus, get more men and bring them to the entrance of the cave. They are not to enter."

"Understood, Dux," Casus answered. He knew what was expected of him. Anyone that came out of that cave who wasn't Ducis or the strangers would be killed immediately. Ducis wasn't stupid enough to have the strangers killed by his people. The equipment they carried suggested that they came from an advanced society. If they came to the conclusion the Magistrate had something to do with their deaths, he would have another enemy he didn't need.

The men still kneeled on the floor.

"Follow me," Ducis boomed. He turned and walked toward the secret passageway.

The staircase ended at a big hall that also was the entrance to the Beast's cave. The hidden facility stretched through the underground on two floors. Luckily the upper floor was too low for the Beast to maneuver, but the corridors led to many staircases that brought you to the lower level and one staircase ended in the room with the healing water. This was the way he and his forefathers had always been able to move through the hidden rooms and explore without having to fear running into the Beast.

…

There were soft voices when Ducis and his men reached the end of the stairs, but no sounds from the Beast or that of a fight. Ducis quickened his step and froze for a moment, taking in the sight before him as he looked down from a balcony on the upper floor. The Beast lay unmoving, surrounded by what looked like most of the men sent down to capture it. On the far side, he made out a small group of five people. It only took him a moment to recognize the strangers and that was Dexcian lying there.

His blood boiled over. He turned to his men.

"You," he pointed at one in the back. "Take your water skin, follow the left corridor to the end and walk down the stairs. There's a fountain in the room. Empty the skin, fill it up again and bring it as fast as you can. Do not mix it with the water in it. Do you understand?"

The man, who really was more of a boy, nodded and scrambled away. He pointed at more men, ordering them to go ahead and make sure he was safe to follow and enter the lower level.

When they moved closer, Ducis could decipher more of the scene. The big warrior accompanying the Colonel lay in a crumbled heap close to the wall, obviously unconscious. Dexcian lay between the strangers and the Beast, also unmoving. That could only have one meaning: Dexcian had tried to stop them from killing the Beast.

He couldn't help a surge of enjoyment when he realized that the Colonel was apparently hurt too. The Colonel's head rested in his wife's lap. She was bent over, skimming her lips over her husband's. Ducis felt jealous. They exchanged a few words that were too low too truly understand. What Ducis _did_ hear was the doctor asking what was going on.

"I would like to know that too. I believe we had an agreement," he asked, not hiding his anger. He heard the Colonel groan. The doctor's head snapped towards them. Only the Colonel's wife's head stayed down, but it tilted slightly and Ducis saw one of their weapons laying next to her. Before he could say something, a bolt passed him and hit the Doctor who squeaked surprised and then crumpled over the Colonel's legs. The wife's head finally snapped up, but another bolt was already on the way hitting her in the chest. She glared at him before tilting to the side.

The Colonel started to thrash weakly on the ground. "Teyla?" he called softly.

He started to lift himself, but only managed a short distance before crumpling back to the ground, unable to stop a whimper passing his lips. Ducis realized that the Colonel was laying in a puddle of his own blood. He grinned and moved closer, confident that the Colonel was unable to harm him, even though he continued to move. The more he moved, the more sluggish he became.

Ducis turned away for a moment, looking at his loyal servant. There was blood on Dexcian's chest. A white cloth covered part of his chest and blood was already seeping through. They had done that to him. He had tried to stop them.

Ducis took a deep breath. He turned to his men, who were checking on the various bodies lying around, keeping their distance from the Beast. The boy he had sent to get the water ran into the room.

"Any survivors?" he asked, snatching the water skin from the boy as he passed. His answer was collective head shakes. He moved to stand directly next to the Beast and the men gasped, still keeping their distance. Ducis hoped there was enough life left in it for the water to take effect.

He opened the skin and stopped next to the Beast's head. There was a gaping hole in its side and Ducis wondered where it had come from. He tipped the skin, making it look like he was pouring water in its face, while he made sure most of it landed in the Beast's open mouth. When nothing happened, he poured the rest over its body, again making sure a big portion landed on the Beast's wounded side.

He stepped back and watched for a moment. The men sighed in relief. The Beast truly seemed to be dead. Ducis ground his teeth. He dropped the skin and turned back to the man who had ruin everything for him.

Suddenly, he heard exclamations. Several of the men were suddenly pulling him away from the Beast. He turned and had to fight to keep his face passive. The Beast stirred slightly and then its breast started to heave.

Ducis freed himself and took a step to the Beast. The wound seemed much shallower already.

"Hurry. Get the Beast to the cave entrance before it wakes further. There's a cage for it." He moved back to the smaller group. "Take Dexcian, the woman, him and him." He pointed at Ronon and Rodney. This was a dream come true. He would own the Colonel's wife and make her his.

The men nodded and quickly set to work, though they were still hesitant to close in on the Beast. The Colonel twisted and squirmed as one of the bigger men pulled his wife away from him. After a moment he faltered, his hands clenched in fists. His body was rigid with pain. The men moved to the door and stopped, obviously waiting for him.

"I will come in a few minutes."

The men looked unsure.

"Hurry, before the Beast wakes," he added. The Beast twitched again, giving the men the right incentive to get going. Now Ducis was alone in a room with the dying Colonel. He sauntered over, aware that the Colonel was watching him. A big grin spread on his face.

* * *

><p>John wanted to kill him. Wanted to wipe the smug smile from his face and rip his heart out. But he was trapped in the agony swallowing his whole being in waves. Ducis crouched next to him, just far enough away so John couldn't slug him.<p>

"Colonel, Colonel," he said, shaking his head. "Did you truly believe you could fool me that easily?"

John snorted. "We killed the Beast," he pointed out.

Ducis' chuckle unnerved John. He had to admit that he hadn't realized much around him, other than Teyla being taken away, as well as Rodney, Ronon and Spartacus. His concentration had mostly been on staying awake.

"You know, Colonel, I could let you die still thinking you did." He paused. "But then I would miss seeing the realization in your eyes that you failed, wouldn't I?"

John growled. "Screw you."

"Na, na, Colonel, keep your manners. Though I'm not sure what exactly you just said. I guess on your world it is taken as rude."

John glared at Ducis. His fist tightened. "Cut the crap."

Again Ducis chuckled. He looked over his shoulder and then leaned closer to John.

"Though you did kill the Beast at first, it will live."

John ground his teeth.

"You see this?" Ducis moved his arm to indicate the Ancient facility. "This was once the home of gods and they, apart from the Beast, have left many wonders. Some are lost to us and some are not. For example, we have a machine that shows us the DNA of everyone walking through the Ring. That was how we knew you were different and needed your wife. It showed us that she shared the Beast's DNA. They also gave us weapons. The little black cylinders and the ones that helped us capture you."

"Nice little story. Get to the point." John interrupted.

"The point, Colonel, is what they left in one of the rooms. One of my forefathers discovered it and it's the reason my family has ruled for as long as it has. It makes us stronger and live longer than most of our people. It's a water fountain that can heal and even give back life, if consumed in time. It's a secret only the ruler and the leader of the personal guards knows, in case I die before I can tell my successor. And before you ask, yes, I was able to give it to the Beast in time. It already showed signs of waking when my guard took it to the cave."

"You won't win."

"Oh, I will. See, now I'm a savior, thanks to you. I freed my people of the Beast and saved your team. Too bad I was too late to save you. But you just wouldn't listen when I told you not to come here."

"My people won't believe you."

"Oh, they won't have to. I'm sure they will believe my next wife. Of course, at the moment she is still yours."

"If you touch her, I'll kill you." John hated that his voice wavered. It was an empty threat and nothing more. John was sure that if he didn't get help soon, he wouldn't wake up ever again.

"You shouldn't make promises you cannot keep," he mocked.

"She'll never be yours," John returned and was satisfied to see real anger cross Ducis face before he could hide it.

"Another mistake you make, Colonel," he continued lightly. "On my world there's a tradition. If a husband dies, the family has until sunset to claim the wife. If they don't, she is sold to the highest bidder the next day. As there is no one to claim your wife, I am the one to decide her fate, and as it is, my former wife passed away not too long ago."

Anger surged through John and he threw a punch at Ducis. He grazed the man's chin and, despite the fact that it was a weak try, Ducis fell on his back cursing. John lay on his side, panting through the agony radiating from his back.

"My wife will rip you to pieces," John told him.

"She will learn. And I still have two incentives to make her more accepting."

John started to drag himself to reach Ducis. Adrenaline shot through his system at the thought of Teyla, Ronon and Rodney in the hands of this maniac. Ducis scrambled to his feet and put what he seemed to deem a safe distance between them. As quickly as it had appeared, the surge of strength failed John and he collapsed on the floor. He felt Ducis watch him and hated that he couldn't keep the groans from moving past his lips. Suddenly, he felt tired and cold. He tried to fight his closing eyelids. Tried to stay awake, but it was no use.

"Only a few nights in my bed and your wife will forget she ever met you," Ducis fading voice taunted.

John had failed. It was the last conscious thought flitting through his mind, before darkness claimed him.

* * *

><p>One moment there was nothing, the next Teyla was falling. The sensation stopped abruptly as her feet hit something solid. Her knees gave way and pain shot from her wrist and shoulders as something pulled at her arms. Her eyes shot open. She quickly brought her feet under her again and the pain stopped. She blinked against the glaring light. It took a moment for everything to come into focus.<p>

The stone was shining white grey in the almost blinding sunlight. She looked up. Her wrists were shackled in iron clasps fixed above her. What was going on? Her brain felt sluggish as she tried to make sense of her situation. What was the last thing she remembered?

She turned her head to her left. Ronon and Rodney too were shackled to white grey stone pillars. But they were still unconscious and settled on the floor, their backs leaning against the pillars. The picture of her friends triggered her memory and they snapped in place in painful clarity. They were back in Ducis' household. John? Where was John?

She turned her head and recoiled, coming face to face to the man she would love to kill with her bare hands. He pushed his nose into her hair and inhaled deeply. Teyla shuddered.

She twisted, hoping to use her legs to give him a taste of what she thought about him being this close, but to her horror her legs were bound and her mobility limited to a minimum. That didn't mean she couldn't use her head. But it was too late. Ducis had already stepped back to a safe distance.

"We will have so much fun together," he gloated, a wide grin on his face.

"I believe my husband already told you that I am not available," Teyla said in an icy voice, playing the only card she had. Her breath caught in her chest when Ducis' grin widened.

"It is with great sadness that I have to inform you of your husband's much too early demise." The joy in his voice contradicted the sad meaning of his words.

"I do not believe you," Teyla spat, her eyes sparkling in anger.

"You will. The sun will soon start to leave for the night to come, and when the last ray of light vanishes behind the far horizon, I will claim you as my new wife as it is tradition for my people. Of course, I will offer a suitable price to your people. But they won't be awake in time to claim their right to you."

Teyla swallowed hard. "I will not agree to this."

A dark smile graced Ducis' face. He was twisting something in his hand. He stepped over to Ronon and Rodney, taking both in. Then he turned back to her and showed her the black cylinder.

"No," Teyla gasped. What would it do to someone not even conscious? Could it kill? The smile grew even darker as he bent to Rodney.

"You will stand beside me tonight and you will accept my gracious offer to take you into my home."

Teyla shook her head, a lonely tear streaming down her face.

"And just as a reminder not to forget, every time you disobey I'll punish them." Another sinister smile appeared as he attached the cylinder to Rodney and set it to work. Rodney's body went rigid and his eyes flew open. His mouth opened and a scream tore from his mouth.

"Stop! Please stop!" she screamed as Rodney started to convulse and whimpering replaced the screaming. Ducis nodded once, seemingly satisfied with her. Rodney stilled and his eyes closed, his head lolling to the side. She frantically searched his chest for movement. She almost collapsed in relief, but the tug of her shackles reminded her that it wouldn't be a good idea.

Ducis stopped in front of her.

"I can't wait to make you mine," he told her.

"Never," she answered, glaring at him. "My people will come."

Ducis nodded. "Yes, and you will be a good wife and tell them how grateful you are that I saved you from the Beast and that your husband made a mistake taking you down to the caves to explore. If you do that, I'll allow your warrior to return home. Of course, first he will have to survive the trial in the arena."

Ducis looked at her, his eyes leering on her curves.

"Now I will leave you to mourn your husband."

"My husband will come and kill you."

Ducis shook his head and smirked gleefully. "We returned from the caves several hours ago. The last time I saw him, he was bleeding from the cuts of the Beast's claws. I am not a monster and will allow you tonight to mourn his loss. Tomorrow night, you will join me and by the next dawn you will have forgotten him."

"Never," Teyla said, her voice strong.

"Wait and see." Ducis turned, not awaiting a reply. As soon as the heavy door behind him closed, the shackles opened. Teyla quickly dropped down next to Rodney and pressed her fingers to his neck.

"Thank the Ancestors," she huffed, making him comfortable. She moved over to Ronon and tried to wake him, but it was to no avail. She didn't dare try to wake Rodney, his agonized scream still fresh in her memory. Was John really dead? Wouldn't she feel if he was? But Ducis was right. John had been bleeding badly and she hadn't managed to tend to him or apply a bandage to stop it.

She looked around, wondering where Spartacus was. She couldn't help cringe over the name John had given the warrior. She didn't even know his real name. Was he dead too? He had been shot, and if he hadn't been tended to, he had most likely died too. Teyla wondered if his wife now faced the same fate as her. Had he been married?

Suddenly, she sobbed and tears started to stream down in earnest. She was not John's wife. It had been only a play and, though he had shown great interest and promised to talk and she had a strong feeling they would finally become more than friends, it might be too late now. She had waited too long. If only she just could tell him how she truly felt.

"I love you, John Sheppard," she murmured quietly, closing her eyes as she saw him in her memories whole and alive. Was that all she would have left of him? Memories of what had great potential? She leaned back as she let her mind replay the memory of the last night they had spent together. She would never forget. Never.

Unaware, she drifted off to an uneasy sleep.

* * *

><p>"… Sheppard?"<p>

The voice was low and distant, barely recognizable. He felt dizzy. There were more and more words floating into his ear, but he couldn't make them out. He was just too tired and cold. He wanted to drift off again. He lay unmoving, waiting for darkness to claim him. But a nagging thought didn't let him. There was something, someone needing him, counting on him, but he had failed. Shouldn't he be dead by now? The thought awakened the pain in his back, pushing him further into wakefulness.

"Colonel Sheppard, please come in." Lorne's voice held a trace of desperation mixed with a note of resignation.

John open his eyes, surprised. How had they found him? He opened his mouth to call out, but all he managed was a barely identifiable "I'm here" followed by a painful cough. They would never find him. For a long moment, there only was silence and John even held his breath to see if he could hear anyone.

"Colonel Sheppard, is that you?"

"No. Batman," John mumbled. Lorne voice had sounded closer, but there was no one around.

"Well, sir, I'm not sure Colonel Carter would be too impressed, but I know what you can do, so I'd agree."

"What?" John tried to turn, embarrassed his 2IC had heard him. He tried to lift, but the pain in his back exploded again and his arms crumbled under him.

"Sir … Colonel ..." The voice was louder than before and directly in his ear. It sounded urgent and worried.

"Still here," John sighed.

"Where are you, sir?" It was then John realized that Lorne wasn't there. The Major's voice had come through the comm link tucked into his ear. He tried to remember when he had put it on vox, before he realized it didn't matter.

"Lorne," he said, his voice sharp. "Need to be careful. Get Jumper and Marines."

"Already in one, sir. Ten Marines ok?"

"Good."

"Can you tell us where you are and where's your team? How bad are you hurt?" Lorne shot the questions without pause. John took a moment to consider how to transform as much information as needed with as little effort as possible. He knew he wouldn't be able to stay awake much longer.

"Team captured," he said. "Ancient facility under city. Entrance several clicks southwest from the main gate."

"Ok, we already see the city and the main gate."

"How bad are you hurt, sir? We have Ramirez here. He would like to prepare a few things."

John could hardly tell them that he didn't think he had that long left. It could take hours for them to find him. Suddenly, the conversation he'd had with Ducis came back. He had said something about healing water.

"You've got to be kidding me," he mumbled to himself as he realized that it must be true. He had felt awful and deep down he knew there'd been more to him not feeling his legs anymore. But then Ronon had gotten them water and, waking up again, he had been fine. The realization flooded his system with adrenaline.

"Sir?"

"Still here. Listen, Major. There's a meadow in front of the cave shouldn't be too hard to miss."

"I think we found it. We already landed and on the way. Oh wow."

"What?" There was an unnerving moment of silence. John's patience was wearing thin, so he barked "Major? What?"

"There are bodies, sir, just inside the cave. From the look, I'd say around fifteen maybe twenty."

John shuddered. He wasn't sure, but there'd been around that many men down here with Ducis. "Sounds like you're actually on the right path."

"Would've preferred bread crumbs though."

John's chuckle turned into another cough. The vibration brought tears of pain to his eyes. He couldn't help the groan slip past his lips.

"Colonel … Colonel?"

It unnerved John to always wake again hearing Lorne's slightly panicked voice.

"'m here." His voice sounded strange and faint even to him. He needed to tell him. "Listen, Major, there's a lab with a water fountain. Get that water and, when you find me, pour it over me and make me drink some."

There was a long moment of silence where John was sure his 2IC was considering that his boss had lost it.

"I know how it sounds. Do it or you'll need a new boss."

"On it, sir. Just try to stay awake."

"No promises."

"Can you tell me where you are?"

John sighed, getting tired. "Pretty deep inside. Big hallway."

John heard the Major issue the orders, but his voice grew distant again and then the blackness was back. But this time he knew there was hope.

* * *

><p>"Colonel, Sir? Can you hear me?" Lorne asked yet again. He stopped. Waiting. Hoping. "Sir?" But this time there was no answer. The team moved further into the complex, which looked completely deserted.<p>

"Dr. Zelenka, did you manage to get a reading on the team's transmitters yet?"

"No, Major, but I do read your transmitters," Radek returned. "I'm trying to locate any energy source that would hint of the fountain the Colonel talked about."

Lorne looked down at the LSD in his hand. "There's one life sign deep in the facility. Could there be a shield or something? We haven't seen any Ancient structure yet."

"I can't tell you from the jumper." There was a short break. "I could be with you in a few minutes."

"Nice try, Doc. No, you stay in the jumper. It's too dangerous and you heard what Col. Carter said," Lorne paused, looking at the walls that suddenly changed from bare rock to smooth surface. "Ok, we found the facility. Keep quiet, in case Colonel Sheppard talks again."

There was no answer, only distant grumbling and then it was silent.

"Ok," Lorne said calling his men to attention. "You heard what the Colonel said, somewhere in these rooms has to be a fountain or something like that."

He sent teams of two to search the rooms along the way.

Lorne turned to Ramirez. "Should we really use the water?" he asked in a low voice. Ramirez looked torn, which wasn't surprising the Colonel's statement still echoing in their minds. It had to be bad when the Colonel resorted to using untested Ancient experiments.

"I'll help look for the water that way I can test it right away," Ramirez said. "Call me if you need me."

Lorne nodded, and while Ramirez followed the others in their search, he, Meyers and Sanders hurried down the shown path in their search for the Colonel. Lorne ran around the last corner and through a door where he stopped dead. Meyers and Sanders almost knocked him over.

"Shit," Meyers spat, taking in the bodies lying on the floor. Lorne was already scanning the room for the shapes looking different. At the far end of the hall lay a single still heap.

"Colonel," he yelled, running as fast as he could. "Damn it," he hissed, falling to his knees next to the Colonel. Something wet soaked through his pants and he realized that it was blood.

"Meyers, call Ramirez," he ordered as his hand hovered over the unconscious man. The Colonel lay partly on his stomach, his arms twisted under him. The back of his uniform was torn and blood welled up from three deep gashes on his back. His pallor was beyond pale. The slight wheeze in the Colonel's breathing told him that they weren't too late. But he wasn't sure how much time they had left. He pulled gauze from his pockets and spread it on the Colonel's back. Sanders kneeled down on the other side doing the same.

"Major, we found it," he suddenly heard on his comm.

"Bring it now," Meyers bellowed.

A few minutes later, the room was flooded with people. Ramirez studied the gauze they had placed to the Colonel's back, but it was quickly soaking through. He looked at the canteen held to him and then at Lorne. He hadn't been able to check the water before.

"Do it," Lorne ordered. What harm could it do? The Colonel was as good as dead from the look of things. "He said to make him drink some and pour it over his back."

Ramirez nodded and took the canteen. "Remove the gauze," he ordered Sanders. "Major, I need you to turn him on his side so we can make him drink. I'd rather not have him on his back."

Lorne nodded, he, Sanders and Meyers took position to hold the Colonel on his side.

"On three," Ramirez ordered.

…

"Holy," Lorne gasped from his position. He could see the Colonel's back. In the few minutes since they had used the water, the gashes had closed almost completely. The Colonel's body had stopped convulsing a moment ago. "Healing water."

"I think Dr. Keller would love to get her hands on this."

Lorne nodded, sending the men who'd found it off to get more and bring it to the jumper right away. A groan from his Commanding officer had him look at the Colonel's face. The man's eyes fluttered for a moment, but closed again.

"The gashes are closed," Ramirez reported, spreading an emergency blanket on the ground, before moving around to face the Colonel. "Put him on his back, but be careful."

It only took a moment and the Colonel lay flat. "Ok, people make some room," he ordered, sure Sheppard wouldn't be too thrilled to find himself surrounded like that.

"Colonel, can you hear me?" Ramirez tapped the Colonel's cheek. The reward was the man turning away, swatting at the medics hand. "Come on, sir. No sleeping on the job."

The Colonel's snort turned into a groan as he started to move. His eyes opened, but needed a moment to focus.

"Great, you brought the cavalry," Sheppard grumbled, struggling to get up. "I'm so going to kill that …" He left the end hanging in the air.

Ramirez pulled the Colonel up into a sitting position. Though the wounds were closed, he was still deathly pale.

"We should get you to the jumper, sir. You need the doc."

"I need to get my team before they get killed," Sheppard contradicted.

"You have been injured, sir."

"The operative words here are 'have been'. Not anymore." Sheppard got up on wobbly legs and stretched his back.

"I know the water healed the wound, but you still lost a lot of blood," Ramirez said, his gaze pointedly traveling to the floor. Sheppard followed his gaze, his face impassive.

He shrugged. "I'm fine. Let's get to the jumper." He took a careful step and, when he stayed vertical, he took the next and the next until he settled into a brisk walk. The team hurried after him, Lorne and Ramirez at the Colonel's sides to make sure he didn't fall. "My team's held hostage in the city and the sick bastard of a ruler thinks he can claim Teyla now that I'm supposedly dead."

"What's your plan, sir?" John threw a sideways glance at Lorne.

"Get them out, kill Ducis, and see if Spartacus is up there too. Good thinking, taking a jumper."

"Yeah, well, we had a little help. We were warned about your situation."

"Really? Who?"

"A woman turned up on our doorstep, so to speak. Her husband, a guy named Dexcian, sent her to us. She knew Teyla's name and told us that she and you had been captured."

"Oh, that must be Spartacus." Lorne's confusion must have shown on his face. "It's a long story, Major," Colonel Sheppard added. "The short version is: there's a monster the Ancients left here, and the big boss here decided he wanted to have it as his pet. He persuaded us to help by threatening to use Teyla as bait. Now he has the monster, Teyla, whom he's very interested in keeping, and Ronon and Rodney, who are hopefully still alive."

Lorne nodded. "So what's the plan?"

"First of all, we need a change of clothes."

Lorne stopped for a moment. Then he hurried after the Colonel. "What?"


	11. We Who Are About to Die, Salute You

**.**

**Chapter 11 – We Who Are About to Die, Salute You**

**by: firedew**

**.**

xo

Dexcian's chest throbbed. He felt covered in bruises. Groggy, his eyes opened to narrow slits and he glanced down. A white bandage had been wrapped diagonally over his neck and across his torso on the left side.

He'd been hit, he remembered. He had fired on the Beast at close range with one of the strangers' weapons. On an unlucky pass, one of the projectiles had ricocheted off the Beast's armor and volleyed straight back toward him. It had felt like an insect bite compared to the subsequent pain of being hurled across the passageway and slamming into the wall.

Dexcian looked around and recognized the extravagant decor of the Magistrate's manse. He'd been brought to one of the suites. A waste, he thought. The bed's silk sheets were covered with haphazard smears of crimson, and across the room, a shallow basin dripped blood. His own. He cursed the infernal stench of incense burning up his nose. Damned physicians used too much of the stuff. If they were too delicate to withstand the smell of human suffering, they might've done better as tailors or scribes; anything other than doctors.

Thick draperies covered the windows. A serving maid bustled around the room tidying up red-stained towels. "You, woman," he said, hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What is the hour? How long have I been here?"

The spindly woman startled and turned, her eyes darting to the floor. "I-It is … nearly sunset, lord Protector."

"Sunset?" That came as a surprise. He hadn't thought he would last this long. "And where is …"

The woman squeaked like a scared little mouse. "M-my sincere apologies, lord Protector. I must go. I have my orders." She scurried out before he could respond or question her about the strangers or the Beast.

Frustrated, he gritted his teeth and sat up with a hiss. Carefully, he lifted the edge of the bandage to peer beneath. A hole beneath his clavicle had been cleaned and sewn shut. A few inches lower and it might have been his heart. Dexcian was unmoved by the thought. He might have been killed and didn't care.

"Dexcian, you have finally awoken."

He looked up. Casus, the head of Ducis' personal guard, strode in. A smile tugged at the corner of Dexcian's mouth as he saw Casus' typically fine, polished armor looked a bit tarnished. "Got your hands dirty today, did you, Casus?"

"More than I would have liked," the other man said, a deep frown settling into his expression. "But someone had to finish what you could not."

Dexcian smirked. Dexcian was the province's General and lead man-at-arms. Casus was a bodyguard with money and a title. All in all, they were both men of skill and reputation, but they had little use for one another. "And your men? How did they fare?"

Casus' lips thinned. "About as well as yours."

Dexcian snorted in derision. He hadn't had _his_ men. Half of the contingent he had led to the caves had been the Dux's personal guard, Casus' men, forced on him by the Magistrate. Poorly trained fools who deserved what they got. Dexcian's men, those that _had _been with him, had deserved better.

An angry stare covered his face. "Well, let's not pretend you came here out of concern, Casus. Get on with it. What happened?"

"The Beast is in the Dux's custody."

"Alive?" Dexcian asked in a gruff, impartial tone. He didn't dare show more interest in the creature than that.

Casus nodded. "It was caged and taken to the Games Arena shortly after we found you."

"What about the strangers?"

"The woman was safely recovered, along with two of the others. The Primus Pilus - the one called Sheppard - did not survive."

Unseen, Dexcian's fingers clenched into a tight fist.

"You should rejoice, Dexcian. The Dux is pleased. He has the Beast and his prize, and you have done your duty. He had the best physicians in the province tend to your wounds."

"Best physicians, eh?" He scanned the nightstand and its empty top. "They're so good they don't even leave their patient a glass of water."

Casus chuckled. "Physician Negoti insisted there be nothing within your reach that might be thrown across the room. It seems you and he have met."

Dexcian rolled his eyes. "Get the woman back. Have her fetch me some water."

Casus nodded again. "Very well. Get yourself up, Dexcian. Ducis wants you in the Arena tonight when he presents his victory to the province."

"What for?"

"Why, you're to be honored, of course; for your loyalty and commitment to the greater good, even unto death." Casus' tone reeked of bitterness. "I am sent to clean up your mess, yet you are the one receiving the honors. I suppose it must be nice to be the people's Champion. To have so much esteem on your side."

Dexcian glowered at him. "You'll never know."

No one knew how much he'd sacrificed for his people. No one. And it seemed the job was yet undone.

Casus blew air down his nose in a haughty retort. Dexcian considered breaking it for him, but Casus turned and went on his way.

Alone, Dexcian stood and stretched his arms, testing his muscles. White hot pains shot through his chest, but he didn't let that stop him. He was too preoccupied to concern himself with anything other than the task that lay before him. The Beast was still alive and, while he didn't know how, it seemed he continued to have the Magistrate's trust. He would need to use that to its full advantage if he still meant to succeed.

Sheppard was dead. He regretted that. Sheppard had seemed a good man, and when he thought of Teyla Emmagan, he wondered if she was grieving now. A small part of him, whispering in the back of his mind, wondered if Marinel was grieving him now as well. She would have one day, regardless. Sky daemons, the Beast, criminals, and foes from the other cities always lurking in the shadows—the life he led didn't often allow men the luxury of growing old. At least, this way she was safe. She had a chance for a new life far away from here.

Marinel had never chosen to be with him. She was his because he'd happened to see her in the street, so young and sweet and daring, and he'd wanted her. Nothing more. She had been frightened of him, but he hadn't cared. True, over the years they had come to respect each other. He was proud of that, proud that she'd seemed contented with him, and so unlike the frightened creatures most women were. And, though she again had been given little choice, he was also immensely proud to have given her children she genuinely seemed to want. Marinel doted on their children, cared for them, and never once treated them as though he'd forced them on her. In all his life, he had never seen two more beautiful babes or a more beautiful mother.

Dexcian exhaled. An anchor weighed so heavy on his chest it threatened to turn his ribs inside out and send his leaden heart plummeting to the floor. He wished things might have been different. So much time wasted. He wished he could have it all back. He wished they could've had more.

Love wasn't something he'd ever expected. Only a fool gave up his heart to someone who simply did what was necessary to please him. But Marinel … She was his weakness. A hardened, lifelong soldier had woken up one day and realized he'd surrendered to raven hair and a pair of bright blue eyes, to soft pink lips and a smile that chased away all his bad memories.

He was a fool, and he missed her. He missed her already.

Aware he could ill afford regrets; Dexcian shook off his memories and steeled himself. He had done the best thing he could by his wife. Given her freedom, Marinel would forget him eventually. One day, so would his children. Knowing the man he was and the things he had done, it was probably better that way. Once he finished the Beast and was declared a traitor, there would've been no life left for them here anyway. Not one worth living.

But, in that, he had no choice. The Beast meant death, not only for enemies of the province but for his own people, and the best way to honor Sheppard's memory would be to help his wife and friends, and to finish what they had started.

Dexcian stalked across the room to where the doctors' tools had yet to be taken away and dug through their belongings until he found a vial of a familiar milky-looking liquid. He poured it down his throat, gulping past the chalky texture, knowing that soon his pain would fade and he'd be able to do all that was required.

The woman came back and he snatched the glass of water from her to wash it down. Then, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Legate Quintus. Get him and bring him here. Go." 

* * *

><p>Sunset. High up on the walls far above Teyla's head, light streamed in through the windows of her cell. Particles of dust navigated the beams as shades of ever deepening oranges, yellows, and reds amassed on the opposite wall. She couldn't look out to gauge the exact path of the sun, but Teyla's hopes for word of John or rescue grew dimmer by the minute. Another day was in its death throes, and her time was swiftly running out.<p>

The cell was unbearably quiet. Rodney was still unconscious and shackled to the stone pillar. Her only company, Teyla huddled next to him.

They had come for Ronon a few hours ago. Her friend had been only just coming around from the blow he had taken at the Beast's hands. Amid a host of other obvious cuts and contusions, a deep purple bruise lined his temple and extended back into the hairline beyond where Teyla could see. She suspected he had a concussion, but despite that, he had not gone easily. The first man to have gotten too close to the shackled warrior would likely be limping well into middle age, and the bone-splintering _crack_ of the second's arm continued to resonate inside the cell. But, to her horror, it wasn't long before Ducis' soldiers exacted their own brand of vengeance and Ronon was writhing on the ground completely at their mercy.

They dragged him away in chains and Teyla didn't know when she would see him again. It would probably be in the Arena, where Teyla would be a prisoner at Ducis' side, Rodney a hostage to quell any rebellion from her, and Ronon would be in the ring fighting for his life.

And John …

Closing her eyes, Teyla quashed a fresh wave of tears. She had to stay in control, even though she was gradually being cut off from everyone she cared about. Soon, they would come for her too and she needed to stay strong.

A sharp groan hit the air and Teyla's head jerked up. "Rodney?"

"Oh … God ..." he moaned, shakily hugging himself around the middle.

"Rodney, are you alright?"

"I think … I'm gonna be sick."

Teyla sighed, peculiarly relieved. "Well, I am glad to see you are awake."

"That makes one of us then." He glanced up with bleary eyes, his features pinched in misery. "H-how long have I been out?"

"Several hours," she said. "Can you sit up?"

"Assuming my head doesn't explode in the next five seconds? Maybe."

With a certain amount of clumsy maneuvering on both their parts, Rodney was soon upright and Teyla examined him with a careful eye. He was breathing deeply, and beyond a fairly standard grimace, he did not seem too worse for wear; although his pallor had delved slightly into a pale, sickly shade of green. "Any better?"

"Not really. Maybe a little," he said.

Teyla gave a slight nod. "What do you remember?" She recalled only too well the headache and disorientation he was likely feeling now, but she couldn't be sure what damage Ducis had also done.

"Not much." Rodney scowled and clutched his head. "Have I been stunned _twice_ now?"

"I am afraid so."

"Figures," he muttered. "Simple mission gone awry, as usual. Getting our asses kicked. As usual," Rodney said as he flicked his wrist to shake out his right hand, his chains clinking and clattering against each other. "And Shep—" His eyes grew to saucers and he glanced wildly around. "Where are Ronon and Sheppard? What happened?"

Teyla placed a hand on his arm. "Do you remember fighting the Beast?"

There was a significant pause where Rodney's face was frozen in confusion. Then a glimmer of recognition took root and he slowly nodded.

A stone formed in Teyla's throat, but she pushed past it. "You remember that … that John and Ronon were injured?"

Another break, then Rodney nodded again.

"Ducis arrived with his men and we were stunned with the same Ancestor technology they used to capture us when we first arrived," she explained. "You, Ronon, and I were brought here. While you were unconscious, Ducis threatened me. He … used one of his torture devices on you to … ensure my cooperation."

Even though his reaction was dampened by his current condition, Rodney still managed to look horrified. "He ... You mean I was … You mean the black cattle prod from hell Spartacus and his brute squad were using on the Beast?"

Teyla nodded.

"I guess that explains why my nerves feel like they were put through a shredder."

"I am sorry, Rodney. I was told the effects are only temporary." Teyla hoped Spartacus had been right about that part.

"Let's hope so," Rodney said, echoing her thoughts.

Her expression clouded over. "Ronon was taken to the Arena. Ducis means to put him through some sort of trial by combat."

Rodney was silent for a moment. Not even he could miss the anguish seeping into her voice. "And Sheppard?"

Her eyes glassy, Teyla shook her head. She couldn't say it. She couldn't even think it. "I do not know, Rodney. I have not seen him since the caves. They … left him there."

With a knifing pang of sorrow, she watched as Rodney's face drained of its remaining color. When they had last seen him, John had been critically injured. Ordinarily, they knew John would have fought, kicked, and even crawled his way out of the labyrinth if it meant survival for him and his team. But he had been in no condition to do any of that. He had been weak and bleeding badly. Left alone with no one to help him …

"He's not dead," Rodney said into the stillness. While Teyla had wrestled against the urge to sink into despair, his mouth had set into a stubborn line. "Sheppard's not dead. He's probably laying low somewhere, coming up with a half-baked plan to get us all out of here. He's not dead. He's not."

Teyla gladly nodded along. "Of course. Of course." She patted his arm and squeezed, needing that small reassurance as much as he did.

If she could have, Teyla would have nestled deep in denial with him and stayed there, but one of them had to keep focus and Teyla was neither recovering from being tortured nor chained to a wall. They could not assume anyone was coming for them.

"Rodney," she said softly. She tilted her head to regain his attention. "Rodney, we may not have much time."

His eyes, unsteady at first, came to rest on hers. "What do you mean?"

Teyla glanced swiftly at the cell door, where she had already begun to hear noises outside that suggested a change in their guards' activity. "They will be coming for me soon. I do not know what will happen after that."

His gaze searched her face and suddenly his expression grew stark with comprehension. "He's gonna keep me here, isn't he? I'm the only thing Ducis has to keep you from wearing his kneecaps as jewelry, so I'm gonna be stuck here until he kills me to make space for someone else. Either that or the dust gets me, one of the two."

He screwed up his chin, a potent mixture of panic and belligerent refusal taking domain over his features.

"Rodney …"

"Well, screw that," he exclaimed. He rallied his strength and started actively struggling against his shackles. "I'm not sticking around to find out what other surprises Sir Psycho has in this house of horrors. All the planets we could've gone to and what do we get? Caligula with a bad haircut!"

Teyla spun toward the doorway, worried his outburst might bring the guards that much sooner. "Rodney …"

"When we get back to Atlantis, Carter can expect a few dozen strongly worded memos on visiting primitive societies, explaining in explicit detail how I will NOT be doing it anymore!" He continued to fruitlessly yank at the iron restraints. "I am a genius! Geniuses don't die in medieval prisons; we get old and have strokes. We die of heart attacks in the middle of arguments or of acute caffeine intoxication surrounded by lab equipment. This place doesn't even have air conditioning!"

"Rodney!" Teyla seized him hard by the shoulders.

Hardly in prime condition, he was relatively easy to contain. He was pale and breathing heavily. Teyla looked at him and wondered for the thousandth time if this was the right thing to do. She refused to live here as Ducis' plastic version of a wife; she would sooner die. If she submitted to a man like that, she would never be able to hold her head up or look at herself in the mirror again. However, she was cut off from Ronon, John was—again she shied away from even thinking the word—and Rodney wasn't in any shape to carry out an escape. The smarter move was probably to bide her time, to wait for a proper opening and then make for the Stargate and come back with reinforcements. By herself she could move faster, with more stealth, and with the greatest chance of success.

But if she did, Rodney would likely be dead before she returned, perhaps Ronon as well. She couldn't leave him here. John would not have left him behind and she wouldn't either.

"Rodney, listen to me," she said urgently. "I'm going to try to overpower the guards. We will get you free and then we will get away from here. Now, when the guards come in, I need you to get their attention."

"What? What do you mean?" Rodney frantically glanced around at their barren stone surroundings. "How am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, Rodney, but I am sure you will think of something. I will only need you to distract them for a few seconds."

Teyla pulled on the hem of her dress. She embedded her fingers in the seam and tore the fabric across the middle. She came away with a long strip about the width of her hand and the length of her arm. It wasn't a knife. It wasn't even very hardy material, but it was better than nothing.

Giving Rodney a quick tip of her chin, she got up and placed herself next to the entrance in the shadows. Closer now, she could hear voices and the bustle of activity just on the other side. She twisted the material lengthwise and looped the ends around her hands as her concentration moved elsewhere, into a place of focus and determination.

If she did not succeed, Rodney would be the one to bear the consequences. Therefore, she had to make sure she succeeded.

Rodney looked on, dumbfounded. "What are you going to do?" he whispered loudly, as if all of a sudden realizing the volume of his voice might make a difference. Then the door flew open and his face fell as a pair of soldiers entered the room.

"Heh … Hey, you! In the toga!" he shouted.

Teyla burst out from behind the door and flung herself on the rear soldier. She coiled the material around his neck and yanked with all her might. Probably not expecting a lone woman to put up a fight, she took him unaware and he reeled backwards. With exacting precision, Teyla reached around him as he fell and caught the shaft of his spear before he careened to the ground. Now armed, she hooked her elbow to intercept a blow from his companion, and then swung the iron tip in a devastating arc at his head. The soldier ducked and Teyla kicked the door shut again as a third man tried to enter the room. The concussive force of the slam rippled through the walls.

Wood thick in her palms, Teyla gave the spear a testing swing to gauge its full weight and get the feel of the shaft, which was longer than she was tall. It was heavier and more unwieldy than she was accustomed to, but there was no time to practice. The felled soldier had recovered his feet and his companion raced toward her brandishing a sword. Relying on her skill, she leaned heavily into an overhead swing and brought the spear thundering down. One sword became two, and the three of them traded blows with blistering momentum. Teyla didn't like the extreme arcs she had to put into her body with every movement to account for the bulk and reach of the weapon. The extra flexion only opened her up to attack. But grit and roiling anger over all that happened drove her on.

The door behind her shot open and the remaining guard burst through. Having anticipated his re-entry, Teyla thrust her leg into one soldier's knee and pivoted, directing the blunt end of the spear on a merciless course for his head. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, however Teyla immediately had to rear back as a glint of razor-edged steel landed in front of her face. The wood shaft splintered and cracked, and the soldier hacked at it once more.

When it shattered in her hands, the soldier seemed to think the fight was over. Out of breath, he, along with his limping companion, ceased their assault for a beat and he had the audacity to smile victoriously, as if this outcome had been a foregone conclusion.

Teyla's fingers closed around the two halves of the spear like a pair of long lost friends.

He never knew what hit him.

Teyla exploded in a flourish of movements that left her remaining opponents staggering to keep up. Due to her size, Teyla was especially suited to close range combat and used every ounce of expertise she'd honed over the years to her advantage.

She shoved a rod into the smiling one's gut and ducked a fierce swipe from the other. Shifting directions, with another strike she hooked his leg at lightning speed. Once he was down, she kicked away his sword and hammered him across the jaw. Helmet or no, he didn't get up. Bloodlust and a thirst for revenge pounding in her veins, she moved back to the remaining guard, who was doubled over. As Teyla raised her weapon, he looked up at her for the first time with fear in his eyes.

She showed him no mercy.

Her lungs heaving with adrenaline, Teyla glanced over at Rodney to make sure he was alright and then bent over the unconscious bodies to search for a key or control mechanism to release the locks.

"Teyla, look out!" Rodney shouted suddenly.

Her head whirled around but only got so far before a thick, muscled arm caught her across the sternum and the tip of a knife was pressed to her jugular.

"Now, now, now. Just settle down," a deep voice ground against the back of her skull. "I would hate to open such a pretty throat."

In spite of his current state, Rodney was livid. "Let her go! You even think about hurting her and I'll—"

Maintaining his hard hold, the man laughed. "A woman wielding weapons better than any man and an academic brave enough to make threats while in chains." He repositioned himself slightly to call out behind him. Teyla struggled against his grip. "You were right, brother. These strangers are quite interesting."

"I am glad you approve." Another voice rumbled in from the doorway, dark and grizzled. One Teyla recognized. "Now release her, Quintus."

The man sighed as if already bored of grappling with her and loosened his hold. Not wasting a moment, she ripped herself free and turned.

Spartacus stood against the stone threshold, bruised and bandaged yet at home in his armor. Teyla was stunned. "You are alive."

His lips curled into a humorless smile. "So it seems, Teyla Emmagan. So it seems." 

* * *

><p>"Great. That's just great," Rodney grumbled. "There's a sadistic lunatic out there who wants to kill me and take you for his new playmate, and you want me to entrust my life to two of the extras from Gladiator."<p>

Teyla cast a quick glance across the cell where Spartacus and Quintus had both moved off for the moment to allow them to talk. One of the unconscious guards stirred. With sobering casualness, Quintus put a heel to his face and kicked him back into oblivion.

"He has offered to free us and Ronon in exchange for our cooperation," she said.

"And you trust him?" Rodney angrily jangled his chains. "He won't even take off these stupid manacles. What makes you think he'll just let us go?"

Teyla pursed her lips as they exchanged a measured look. Her teammate had bristled at everything having to do with Spartacus and his plans, his attitude petulant even by Rodney's standard. After all they had been through, his indignation was understandable. He was entitled to it. But Teyla had a feeling his hostility stemmed from something else, the same dreadful worry that coiled in the pit of her stomach. The fact was, throughout their entire discussion there had been no mention of John, and the implications of that loomed over them like the shade of an executioner.

Teyla spoke evenly. "I believe him, Rodney. He has kept his word to us before, and we may need to accept that we might never reach Atlantis without his help."

The scientist scowled. "Fine. I still don't see why he won't get me out of these things!" He glared at Spartacus and raised his voice to get the soldier's attention. "That's right, pal. You want us to trust you? This is the sort of thing friends do for each other. They mess around, play chess, they have a few beers, and—oh yeah—they break each other out of prison!"

Spartacus peered back at him, his cold, calculating exterior simmering with amusement. "And in a few minutes when the Magistrate's guards come looking for their comrades, wondering why they have not collected the woman yet, what will you tell them, Doctor McKay? They slipped off?"

Rodney's chin held firm, but his posture bent uncomfortably. "I have … very delicate wrists."

"Of that I have no doubt," he returned shrewdly.

"Oh, nice one, Spartacus. Caveman humor is apparently universal."

Quintus quirked his brow at the use of the informal moniker, though Spartacus himself made nothing of it.

"Considering your offer," Teyla said, "perhaps it would be fitting for us to know from whom it comes. We have never been properly introduced."

Spartacus looked at her, his face impenetrable.

After a sufficiently long pause with no response, Rodney spoke up. "Don't tell me. 'You _are_ Spartacus.'"

"You have the honor of addressing Dexcian Navis, lord Protector, Commander of the Magistrate's elite forces, and the chosen Champion of our people," Quintus replied with a deferring eye toward his commander, frowning at Rodney. "You will treat him with respect."

Spartacus - Dexcian - looked away, ostensibly impatient and uncomfortable with talk of titles. Overall, however, unlike their first meeting, Teyla found him to be strangely aloof. Quintus had studied her with overt fascination. She supposed she must be quite an oddity to him, a woman who could fight as well as speak her mind without fear of reproach. Dexcian, on the other hand, seemed resolved. He bore the look of a man who had no longer had any questions in life. He knew what was coming around the corner, what tomorrow looked like, and he was ready to meet it.

Without understanding why, she was sad for him.

"Enough of this," he muttered under his breath and then exhaled. "Time is short, Doctor McKay."

He glanced between Teyla and Rodney, as if undecided on which of them to address. "You and your people promised your help and you gave it. Would that I could release you now, but my men will need time to get into position, and we cannot afford to be sidetracked by your 'escape' should anyone discover you are missing. Once our business with the Beast is finished, my men will come back for you and see you safely to the Ring, you have my pledge." He sent a pointed look to Quintus and the soldier tipped his chin in response. "Until then, you have only to play your parts."

"And Ronon?" Rodney asked stubbornly.

Dexcian paused. "He will be more difficult. He is already in the Arena and it is too well manned by Ducis' Praetorians and the Career fighters to get in and out unseen."

"What do you intend to do?" Teyla asked, concerned.

A flash of annoyance contorted his features, though she got the impression it was directed more to himself than her. "I don't yet know. He is being held under charges."

"What charges?"

"Attacking the Dux's Commander, of course," Quintus said. He threw a sardonic grin Dexcian's way, to both Teyla and Rodney's consternation. "After he was injured by one of your weapons, what other conclusion was there to be drawn?"

Rodney shouted at Dexcian. "That's total crap and you know it!"

The wounded soldier kept an even keel. "The Dux can hardly charge him with being an inconvenience, can he? This way he can demonstrate to the people that he seeks justice on their behalf, and they love him for it. Your friend becomes useful whether he lives or dies—though, for his convenience, the Dux would prefer he dies." He gazed at Teyla. "I sincerely hope your friend is a solid fighter. He may need to play his part as well until my men can get to him."

"While you do what exactly?" Rodney interceded again. "Ronon fights for his life, while you go after this Beast thing again right underneath Ducis' nose? Even though it can take out pretty much anybody that comes near it, and our guns are pretty much useless and, I almost forgot, gone. _Again._ Teyla, remind me why we ever helped this guy in the first place."

Dexcian stood tall, his muscles taut and dangerous, as immovable as one of the room's stone pillars. "You are worried for your friend, Doctor. That's admirable. But if Ducis has his way, your friend will only be the first of the Beast's victims."

His eyes swept them up and raked them over, burning like hot coals over a flame as he began to stalk the room.

"The Magistrate will not be satisfied until every leader across Minoa kisses his sandals, and the Beast is exactly the weapon he needs to fulfill that desire. How long do you think he can keep the creature fed on enemy insurgents and criminals? I guarantee it will not be long before false charges become innumerable and innocent lives are sacrificed to that monster. _My _people. The ones I have given up _everything_ to protect."

Teyla saw pain in eyes, a wound separate from the gunshot taken in the earlier battle, something deeper that transcended flesh. Invisible. Lethal. What had he given up?

"I will not walk away from that, Doctor," he declared finally, unmistakably. "No matter the odds."

Quintus stepped forward. "The Beast has been killing us for thousands upon thousands of years, virtually unchecked. It has taken more of us for itself than even the Sky Daemons. At least they only prey on us every few generations. The Beast never stops. My father, his father," he pointed to Dexcian," their fathers and theirs. Our sworn brothers and, one day, our _sons_." He halted his speech for a moment, his message clear. "The Beast will have our children and many more if we do not stop it now where it stands."

Dexcian grew unaccountably quiet. To Teyla's bewilderment, he seemed suddenly unable to meet his lieutenant's gaze. That was when, to her heartache, she realized that the question was not what he given up, it was who.

He soon recovered himself and said in a low, harsh tone, "This is my people's last chance. The stakes are too high. My men will see you and your friends free, Doctor McKay." He cast a long glance toward Teyla and she knew he spoke to her as well. "But the Beast comes first. If we miss this window, there will never be another. I cannot let anything or anyonestand in the way."

No one spoke for what seemed like an eternity, then Teyla found her voice. "We understand. If we can help in any way, you need only ask."

Dexcian peered across at her as though trying to gauge her sincerity. Then he nodded.

"Even if we aren't sure whether you have a death wish or are just plain stupid," Rodney said sourly beside her. She turned to see him shaking his head.

Teyla gave a small smile. "Rodney."

"Oh, don't 'Rodney' me." Huffing, he pushed himself up so his back rested higher against the stone column to which he was chained. "Alright, Spartacus, hand it over." He lifted his hand and gestured with his fingers.

Dexcian wrinkled his brow in question.

"The black thingy on your belt."

He glanced down at his waist and pulled it loose. "It is called an Aranea."

"Spider. Cute. Now give it to me." Rodney didn't bother to hide his disgust as he took it in his grasp. "If you plan on going after the Beast, you'd better have something up your sleeve besides those swords you're carrying, and I happen to be the foremost expert on Ancient technology in two galaxies." He studied the casing and, after locating a small access panel, pried it open. "You know, this would be much easier if I had my tools, but maybe I can boost the power output."

"And what will that do?" Quintus asked.

Rodney squinted at the device's wiring and circuitry before gingerly advancing inside. "Think the difference between a static shock and a taser. Now shut up, I'm trying to concentrate."

Dexcian sidled up to Teyla. "What is a taser?"

The corner of her mouth quirked upward. "Something that will help."

"We do not have long, Doctor," he said.

Distracted, Rodney barely responded. "Just … give me a minute. This doesn't seem too complicated." He abruptly lifted his head and barked at Quintus. "You! You're gonna need to bring every one of these you've got here so I can modify them, unless you plan on doing it all yourself. Yours too. Now."

Teyla and Dexcian watched on blanketed in temporary silence as Rodney worked, apparently determined to test Quintus' patience to the fullest, and the minutes ticked by, each one deafening as they waited for the guards to show up. She stood there with her arms hugged around her waist, her hands pulling deftly and discontentedly at her sleeves.

She wanted to fight. It went against every instinct she possessed to simply let them take her away, but she had elected to trust Dexcian, and for a little while longer that meant compliance. Wait. Do nothing. Allow others to take risks for her and her friends, one of whom she was desperately worried about. It felt so wrong.

It was hard to believe that only yesterday she had walked through the Stargate with her teammates expecting a short hike over idyllic countryside and an easy first contact. How had they ended up here?

"What about John?" she heard herself quietly ask. "Colonel Sheppard. Have you heard anything of him?"

Dexcian was slow to look at her, and time, already stretched to its limit, ground to a halt. His dark countenance was grave, his eyes softened to ash.

And then she knew.

"I am sorry, Teyla Emmagan."

In the space of an infinitesimal moment, despair pierced her heart like a dagger and rapid, mournful gasps built in her lungs like an oncoming avalanche. Tears welled up in her eyes, and feeling her foundation of control crumbling, she blinked them away and flutteringly nodded her thanks for his honesty.

Later. There would be time to grieve later. If she started now, she wasn't certain she would ever be able to stop.

He stared at her intently, diligent despite the far away timbre that shaped his voice. "Did you have children with him? Sheppard?"

Teyla started to settle into the smooth cradle of sternly regimented detachment, yet plaintive visions stole into the back of her mind of what a child of John's might have looked like. A small wild-haired boy with a crooked smile perhaps. A face gradually appeared from behind a smothering black curtain, and it was all she could do to say one little word.

"No."

He seemed to consider her answer carefully, then turned his gaze back to Rodney and Quintus. "Perhaps that is for the best."

He said it with so much forced callousness that Teyla was pushed to once again draw breath. "Do you have children?" she asked, scrambling to regain some sense of composure.

"Not anymore."

His eye line scraped the floor. Were they the ones he had given up?

"Did you lose them to the Beast?" she asked softly.

There was a long pause. "In a way."

Teyla regarded him with a measure of empathy. She may not have grown up with the Beast, but she knew the Wraith, loss, and the heavy toll it took on those affected by it. "Tell me about them. How many did you have?"

He looked her way again, his expression slowly finding a median between skepticism and anguish. "Two. A son and a daughter. Marcus is …" His cheek ticked slightly. "He was still small. Just a boy."

Teyla quietly tilted her head. "And your daughter?"

His voice hollow, his eyes empty, he stared straight ahead. "A babe. I barely knew her."

The clatter of footsteps approaching from the outer passageway shattered the fleeting illusion of calm, and she and Dexcian immediately went on alert. "Quintus."

His comrade glanced toward the doorway, then wrenched the Aranea from Rodney's busy hands. "Hey!"

"My apologies, Doctor, but our time is up. Are you ready?"

Rodney moaned. "Do I have a choice?"

"No."

He sighed. "Just don't forget we're only trying to make it _look_ painful."

Quintus grinned. "I will try."

With no ceremony, Dexcian grabbed hold of Teyla's arm and pushed her face first up against the wall until her cheek scratched stone. He, not ungently, pulled her elbow back and up in a lock and Teyla once again found herself with a knife to her throat.

"Soon, Teyla Emmagan. You will not need to suffer the Dux for much longer."

He released her arm for a second and she felt him fumbling with one of the dress pockets at her waist. Something dropped inside, about the size and density of a palm knife. "Do not get caught with this, and only use it if you have no other choice," he said quietly.

She nodded, catching a glimpse of his face over her shoulder. "Thank you."

He said nothing, just took her arm back.

As the guards drew near and Dexcian started to tense behind her, Teyla inhaled in a deep breath. "John would have made a wonderful father," she whispered, replete with regret.

She wasn't sure Dexcian had heard until his voice rasped in her ear. "Then, I am sorry for that too."

Then Quintus hauled back his fist and punched Rodney. 

* * *

><p>"He was quite loud, wasn't he?" Quintus said behind him as they finally exited the manse.<p>

Dexcian hastily forged a path away from the Magistrate's house. From the top of the hill, he could already see the crowds in the heart of the city headed for the Arena, sending up hazy plumes of dust under their feet.

"I held back as much as could be convincing, yet he shouted as if I was removing his fingernails."

Dexcian kept walking. "Perhaps he was only trying to be equally as convincing."

Quintus answered with a snort. No, Dexcian didn't think so either.

A series of granite stairs had been built into the ground leading downhill. The pair followed them to a stand of trees in a secluded part of the yard, far enough from the house to avoid drawing anyone's notice.

"Still, they are impressive enough," Quintus said more seriously. "Do you really think the Doctor's changes to the Araneas can bring down the Beast?"

"I don't know, but you will do as he said," Dexcian replied. "We do not have many, but every Aranea at our disposal goes to him quickly, before our men take their positions. Doctor McKay was not wrong when he said we would need more than swords to bring it down."

A storm of unqualified bitterness masked over his friend's features. "We have been fighting it long enough to know."

Dexcian exhaled. Now wasn't the time for arguments. "No more, Quintus."

"Ducis lied to us, Dexcian. He lied to all of us. He's turned his back on his people and spit on those that came before, those like us who have fought and bled and died to keep our people safe."

Dexcian pursed his lips, then gave a clipped nod. "Yes, he has, but don't lose sight of the real enemy."

"I don't believe I do. Ducis is our leader, but if he would betray us to the Beast, he is guilty and deserves to be punished."

Fuming, Quintus broke off a few paces as a chill wind shook the leaves.

Quintus had always been headstrong, as far back as Dexcian could remember. It was part of what made him so good and why Dexcian had wanted him by his side in battle. Quintus did not understand the word defeat and oftentimes that alone was enough to see a man home. But not always. This was one final lesson that Dexcian had no time to teach.

"Be careful what you say, brother," he warned. "I talk of betrayal. You talk of rebellion."

Quintus sniffed and angled his shoulders as he glanced back around at Dexcian. "Perhaps rebellion is what we should be talking about. Ducis' sons are no better than their father. You know that as well as I do."

Angry, Dexcian shook his head. "Stop this. Don't—"

"The people would follow you, Dexcian. You are their Champion."

Dexcian abruptly seized him by the scruff of the neck and got in his face. "I am _no one's_ Champion. Not anymore," he growled, needing him to understand before he did something foolish. "I am a soldier and, after the Beast is dead, I will be no one. A traitor whose _men_ were only following orders. Do you understand? This is my choice, and unless you intend to lead our men into taking on Casus and the rest of Ducis' army, you will abide by it."

Quintus' expression remained locked in stubborn defiance. "You talk as if your men are not with you. As if we would not follow you into Hell itself."

Dexcian tightened his grip on the back of his neck, a moment of friendship within an arresting embrace. He grimly shook his head. "I don't want you to follow me that far, Quintus. I need you here." Quintus wasn't his blood, but he was the closest thing to a true brother Dexcian had ever had. "I need you to take care of the men once I'm gone. Someone will have to command and there is no one else I trust."

"You don't need to do this. We can take care of the Beast and the Dux together. I'll not see you branded a traitor for doing only what is right."

"As if any of us are a fit judge of what is right," Dexcian grumbled. He released Quintus with a bitter shove. Quintus stumbled a step before righting himself, and this time it was he who watched as Dexcian moved away and looked out over the city he'd grown up in.

It seemed so far away now. Almost like it didn't exist.

"What about your son, Dexcian?" Quintus asked after a long moment. "Have you considered what will happen to him when you are dishonored and vilified by the Dux? And what of your wife? If I recall, you are quite fond of her."

Dexcian didn't respond. His eyes were still, yet the corner of his mouth crept upward into a knowing smile. Quintus still had a small scar on his neck, a memento of the last time anyone had thought of laying a hand on his wife. Quintus had been younger then, still eager to prove himself, and the bruising Dexcian had given him had made him think twice about many things, the way he handled women—especially one not his own—the first among them.

Quintus was a good man. Stubborn. Idealistic, perhaps. But he knew none better.

"Would you have them brought to ruin?" Quintus asked. "Turned out? Your son a traitor's spawn, your wife another man's whore?"

"I have a daughter too," Dexcian reminded him. His Astrea. His pretty babe whom he'd ignored and tried to forget, in order to shield himself from the pain of losing her one day. It hadn't worked, and now he would never forget her. He would think of his son, his wife, and his beautiful daughter when he took his last breath.

"Don't you worry, Quintus. They are safe. No matter what happens, no one will hurt them ever again."

He finally turned. Questions creased the lines of Quintus' face, but Dexcian paid them no heed. There was no more time.

Quintus stood taut as Dexcian clasped his shoulder. "I wish you luck, my friend. With everything. I'll see you on the field?"

Quintus stared at him a moment, frustration and disbelief coloring his complexion, the lines on his face strained. But finally, in a move that perfectly mirrored Dexcian's, he reached out and caught his shoulder. "On the field," he said.

Dexcian nodded his chin in solemn approval.

No promises about after.

A soldier could swear his sword and his life to duty, but he couldn't guarantee anything more, and Dexcian was almost done.

The two brothers clutched at each other one last time, each knowing that this time it was goodbye. 

* * *

><p>John shot a cagey glance toward the street. It had been surprisingly easy to slip back into the city. When John's team had initially gone out to meet the Beast, there had been a fair number of sentries at the main gate giving them the stink eye, but their positions had been empty upon his return. Probably a lucky break, but he was still wary.<p>

For the moment, he was staked out behind a small sandstone house which, unlike Ducis' overblown mansion, wasn't much bigger than his first apartment. Positioned on a block with several others just like it, it provided enough cover for him, along with Lorne and his team, to move around relatively unseen and still allowed him to keep an eye on the ever increasing amount of foot traffic on the street.

The laundry hanging out back to dry didn't hurt either.

"How's it coming over there, Lorne?" he called quietly.

"Okay, sir. Almost done. I think." The Major fussed around with a dangling flap of material, not really sure what to do with it. The white wool togas were bulky enough to cover their uniforms and weapons but a royal pain in the ass to put on.

Meyers stepped in to give him a hand.

"I'm thinkin' it's no wonder these things went out of style two thousand years ago, sir," Sanders groused, awkwardly flailing his arms around to maneuver inside the massive folds. Issue number two had been to figure out how to conceal a P-90 while maintaining accessibility. They couldn't just go in playing Rambo. These people had weapons they had no clue about. They needed to be smart about this. "I feel like friggin' Julius Caesar," Sanders complained again.

Meyers looked over his shoulder at his teammate and chuckled. "Well, hopefully things work out a little better for you than they did for him."

Frankly, John thought his men looked closer to Animal House than Shakespeare, but fortunately the average citizen on this planet seemed to fall somewhere in between.

A few rapid clicks sounded in John's ear. Capt. Campbell's voice came over the comms. "Are you seeing this, sir?"

John turned again to view the movement in the street. Thinking they stood less of a chance being spotted with a smaller strike force, John had split the marines up—one team in the Jumper ready for a quick extraction and another team with Campbell moving along a similar vector toward Ducis' house.

"I see it," he replied.

"Something's up, Colonel."

John felt like someone had dug channels under his eyes as the world vaguely began to resemble the view from a Tilt-a-whirl. "Yeah, you got that right."

He closed his eyes and took a few controlled breaths. And, of course, the medic was right on top of it. "You alright, sir?"

"Relax, Ramirez. Just got a little dizzy. I'm fine."

Ramirez frowned and offered up his canteen. He observed as John took a long pull. "You lost a lot of blood, Colonel."

John returned the small brown vessel. "And once we're all back safely in Atlantis, I'll be sure to set aside plenty of time for another one of Keller's lectures. Right now, we've got more pressing matters to deal with."

Feeling better again, John was anxious to move on. With Ducis' threats fresh in his mind, he didn't want to think about all that could've happened to Teyla and Ronon and Rodney in the hours since he'd been left in that cave to die. He had to get to them, but with all these people headed toward the center of the city, suddenly veering off on their own would only make them stick out like a sore thumb, despite the outfits.

"We need to find out what's going on," John said.

"Suggestions, sir?" Campbell asked over the radio.

John exhaled and addressed the team waiting in the jumper. "Radek, are you getting anything?"

"Life signs seem to be converging inside a large structure in the center of the city. It looks like a kind of … arena."

"Like the Roman Colosseum?" Lorne asked in front of him, now fully dressed.

"That would certainly fit with the trend," John muttered.

"Still nothing from our missing people, though," Radek reported over the comms. "Sorry, Colonel."

"Yeah, didn't think so," John said, disappointed nonetheless. "It's more than likely our locator chips were shorted out when we first got captured."

"Well ..." Lorne eyed the moving crowd. "We look the part. We could always just ask."

John nodded, pushing up from his careful crouch. "Simple. Direct. That's a plan after my own heart, Major. Have I mentioned yet how glad I am that you decided to join this mission?"

Lorne's lips quirked upward. "Once or twice."

"Just thought I'd check." John glanced swiftly between his men and the growing throng. "Alright, well … I guess I'll be back in a minute."

"Uh, sir …"

John rotated back around to address the Major. "Yeah?"

Lorne stepped forward, his forehead bunched in an uncomfortable grimace. "Sir, I think you should let me."

"I told you, Major, I'm fine."

"Be that as it may, with all due respect, Colonel, you look like hell."

John's brow curled in weary amusement. "Et tu, Lorne?"

The Major smirked. "Sir, you've been through a lot today and the fact is it shows. Someone sees you, they'll start asking questions."

John considered his point and quickly determined his XO was probably right. He hadn't had much of a chance to look himself over after nearly getting filleted by the Beast. But it was probably safe to assume he'd looked better. Healed or not, he was more than likely looking pretty pale and, though John had stopped to wash himself off, he still detected the tacky sensation of blood drying in the hair at the back of his neck. Nice impression to make on the locals.

"Alright, Lorne, you're up," he said. "Word of advice: you'll probably be better off approaching a man rather than a woman. Right now, we can't afford some guy getting angry thinking you're horning in on his property," John shook his head with combined disdain and disbelief he had to say this, "and any woman you ask will probably be too scared to give you much."

Lorne nodded his head with a dejected air. "Yeah, we kind of got that impression with Marinel, the soldier's wife. The whole slavery thing. I don't understand how they can do stuff like that."

"I don't either," John said. "But for now …"

Lorne nodded again. "The job. Got it. Be back in no time, sir."

Without pause, Lorne stealthily moved away from the group to join the crowd at a more inconspicuous point, and from there time seemed to drag on interminably. After a few minutes, John spotted him up the street walking and chatting with an older man, who looked like he was hobbling along on a cane.

C'mon, c'mon, c'mon.

A few minutes later, Lorne reappeared knifing his way through files of people, and once he was in the clear, he double-timed it back to their position. He spoke urgently. "Colonel, I think our plans just changed."

"What's going on?" John's mind swam with every jacked up scenario under the sun. Ducis had his team. The only thing stopping him from hurting Teyla was the residual claim of her "newly deceased husband" and that ended at sundown, when Ducis had gloated he would legally and in all benevolence take her as his own. For all he knew, everyone was headed to a big public announcement of Ducis' wedding. John knew Teyla would never accept the guy willingly, but with Rodney and Ronon as his collateral …

God, if he'd hurt them …

John's worst case scenario practically unfolded in front of his eyes as Lorne dispensed with the pleasantries. "It's Ronon, sir."

Explanations came so fast his XO barely drew breath, and when he was done there was no stopping John anymore. Driven by purpose and fear, John and his men immediately broke position. His hand flew to his earpiece.

"Capt. Campbell, new orders. Forget the mansion. I repeat, forget the mansion. Follow the crowd toward the center of the city. We're headed to the Arena." 

* * *

><p>The blade of a sword clanked clumsily across the bars of Ronon's cage, held by a hairy, thick fingered brute in light armor. "You're a quiet one," he said, revealing a cracked front tooth and an ugly smile. "Doesn't seem right to sit there without begging for mercy like most."<p>

Ronon glared darkly back at him.

"You sure he has a tongue, Acrisius?" one man, similarly built, called out from across the torch lit chamber. This one had a hooked nose, widened at the bridge from countless breaks. Nearby, another sat hunched over on a wooden bench, polishing an iron shoulder plate and, in the corner, two more rough looking fighters were gathered. One had no apparent interest in what the others were saying. He was too busy with the woman in his lap, groping and kissing her. The Groper tore at her dress and yanked her top aside, his other hand climbing high up her skirt. The woman bent her head back in apparent ecstasy, but Ronon knew better. From his vantage point, he could see she was posturing. She stared blankly at the ceiling as the fighter did what he liked to her, no hint of pleasure anywhere on her face, while the last man, rat-faced and leaner than the others, chugged on a flagon of ale seeming content to watch.

As the underground staging area where they were situated filled with the noise and movements of the converging masses above, the five of them circled Ronon like a pack of overconfident hyenas.

Mercenaries. They might be called something else here, but Ronon knew mercenaries when he saw them. They stood out from the uniformed soldiers steadfastly guarding every exit, warriors who sold their skills to the highest bidder, sometimes for public entertainment, sometimes in the name of justice, but consistently brutal and always deadly.

"He looks half wild, that one. Maybe men like him don't talk where he comes from."

"He'd better," said the third one, his voice sounding like he'd swallowed a bag of rocks. He looked up from his armor to reveal a blind right eye, white and scarred. "If the Magistrate doesn't get the show he wants, we don't get our money."

"Oh, he will," Acrisius said, looming next to the cage. He leered down at Ronon. "Don't you worry, I'll get some begging out of you yet. They all go screaming in the end."

Inside an unblinking animal stare, Ronon raged at the chains chafing at his wrists and ankles, collaring him at the neck. After what he'd done to the last set of guards to try and move him, someone had decided the cage itself wasn't enough, so not only was he still bound, his chains were also anchored to the floor. Frustrated and immobile, Ronon pictured in gruesome and satisfying detail reaching through the bars and clamping his hands around Acrisius' throat. Hard to scream with a crushed windpipe. Acrisius would die flailing and gulping like a fish.

The man's eyes honed in on Ronon's predatory half smile and his voice lowered to a devious pitch. "There now. Look at you. You're gonna be fun, aren't you? Good. The harder you fight, the more we get paid when you're dead."

He laughed, a barking cackle that reverberated through the room, and turned his back on Ronon. He sauntered over to Ratface and snagged his ale. To the amusement of the others, the smaller fighter let out a resentful yelp as Acrisius shoved him aside and swilled the contents of his glass. After taking his fill, Acrisius then crossed to the woman and seized her upturned face in one of his large, meaty hands. Her cheeks locked in an inhumanly tight grip, she cried out in pain as he ripped her off the Groper's lap by her head to fall in an ungainly heap on the floor. Ronon surged forward inside the cage only to be stopped cold again by shackles.

The woman sobbed and choked as Acrisius changed his white-knuckled grip and pulled her to her feet by the neck. She whimpered as he stroked his tongue down the side of her cheek, but his actions were cut short when the Groper clubbed the distracted Acrisius across the head with a mail-plated fist and, with a loud possessive grunt, kicked his knees out from under him. The group roared with laughter as Acrisius flopped backward into the dirt. Triumphant, the other man roughly took the woman by the hand and hauled her to him, then continued where he'd left off by fondling her behind and possessively biting the tender flesh of her neck.

The whole scene made Ronon sick. The booming echo of the clamoring crowd traveled down from the stands outside, through the tunnel and into the network of rooms beneath. The antechamber they were in teemed with the crowd's anxious, surging energy and the mercenaries were feeding off it like a drug.

White Eye stood with his newly shined armor in hand. Rumbling out the last of a hollow, grating chuckle, he shouted, "That's it, boys. They'll be singing our song in a minute." And as though in answer, from the chamber up ahead emerged an ear-splitting metallic clang and the Beast let out a deafening roar.

The mercenaries laughed as they strolled past the guards with the woman in tow, presumably to finish readying themselves for combat. Like Ronon, they were used to the Beast's tumultuous bellowing by now. Every few minutes the creature's hideous, wheezing shouts flooded Ronon's ear drums and bounced off the inside of his skull, screaming, "MINE! MINE!" over and over again as it bucked and heaved, frenetically testing the merit of its cage. Hurt from tangling with the Beast once already, Ronon's head pounded relentlessly. The racket created by the creature now only fed the throbbing ache and amplified it with staggering precision. But knowing what stood in front of him, Ronon used the pain to fuel his rage and to center his resolve.

By the time the guards came for him again, Ronon was a seething mass of Satedan fury. He opened his eyes and the world was coated in red.

They were prepared this time, with weapons ready as his fetters were released from the floor and he was escorted out, still chained at the wrists and ankles. He flexed his hands, his palms aching to be armed as he moved up the wide ramp leading into the Arena where his survival would be dangled in front of him to torture Teyla and for Ducis to get his jollies. Maybe the asshole thought Ronon would be a quick demonstration of his power over her, with Rodney to be his insurance in the future. An easy, strategic kill.

Ronon walked the path ahead with sinister smile draped on his lips.

Not gonna happen.

Ronon was halted at the head of the Arena. Though he was still cloaked in the shadows of the underground, the sprawling venue was laid out before him. Here, too, guards stood in wait at the entrance, but beyond them the wide open sandy interior was surrounded on all sides by towering stands bursting with people of every walk of life, young or old, rich or poor. In the center of the stadium, a parcel of the stands differed from the rest, more spacious and extravagantly decorated. Ronon squinted and saw Ducis standing at the head with Teyla beside him. Projecting loudly, the craven ruler shouted a few words and the crowd fell silent. Then he started to speak.

Ronon didn't hear much, because behind him another pair of voices picked up, exchanging words harsh and fast.

"I have my orders, lord Protector. I've had no word from my superiors regarding-"

"I will deliver the prisoner to the Dux and his people myself, Praetorian," the new voice barked. "It was my blood he spilled and his blood is mine by rights."

"My lord …"

Having sighted Teyla, Ronon didn't want to pull his eyes away hoping he could spot Rodney as well, but he listened intently, thinking the voice sounded familiar.

"Unless you wish to challenge me, boy, I suggest you step back and remain silent. I would think you'd serve Casus better with both hands, but I am willing to put your faithfulness to the test." The shear sound of steel breaching its sheath cut the air.

"N-no, lord Protector," the other practically squeaked. "I wouldn't dream of denying you the pleasure of delivering him to the Magistrate yourself."

There was a quick shuffling of sandaled feet and then the razor edge of the sword slid effortlessly across the back Ronon's neck, the deft movement encouraging him to move slightly forward. The circular press of something hard dug into his spine and Ronon froze, now fully aware of what the object in question did.

Ronon hissed behind his teeth, loathing how vulnerable he was at the moment. As he stood tense, the full, grizzled voice commanded behind them, "Take them off."

A soldier ambled forward and set about releasing his shackles, leaving Ronon's limbs free and able to fight before he was pushed violently forward a few more paces, almost into the Arena.

Then the dark voice drifted softly near and whispered in his ear. "Look to your left and right."

Rattled, for an instant Ronon did nothing. Then, he obeyed. With surreptitious glances, the two guards manning the final passage to the Arena were now watching them.

"Cadmus and Aerod," the man said by way of introduction. "They are loyal to me. They will get you out of the Arena when the time arises. You must be ready."

Now sure who he was talking to, Ronon didn't relax a single inch. "What about my friends?"

"My men will see they are safe. You will meet them at the Ring and go back to your home soon enough. You only need stay alive until then."

Ronon pursed his lips. "And why should I trust you?"

The blade pressed the skin, the weight bearing more on the right side, motioning him to look left. A short distance away, the guard, Cadmus, with a subtle flick of his wrist, pushed his cape back from his hip revealing something strapped to his belt. Something Ronon was starting to think he'd never see again.

His blaster.

"This weapon is different from the rest. I take it you know how to use it?"

A mad thirst started to build within Ronon's blood. He nodded.

"Good," Spartacus said. "Save it for the Beast. You may need all the power it has. Can you take the Career fighters without it?"

Ronon thought of Acrisius and his cohorts and, with a wolfish smile, nodded again before he was taken into the Arena.


	12. Against all Odds

**.**

**Chapter 12 – Against all Odds  
><strong>

**by: Mysra  
><strong>

**.**

xo

Someone bumped into John's back as their progress was once more halted. The force knocked him off balance and he needed two stumbling steps to get his footing back. Lorne's hand hovered close to his elbow. He glared ahead at the cramped walkway towards the entrance to the Arena. Why did things always get tight when an entrance was involved?

He kept from turning his head, knowing the movement could screw his tentative grasp on balance even more. As much as John wanted to deny it, Ramirez had been right. His wounds were healed, the blood loss wasn't. His heart was hammering unusually fast and he was soaked through from the short walk up to the Arena. But he needed to keep going. He could rest later. Right now his team needed him.

He sensed movement again and looked up. This time he looked around carefully, realizing that the team with him had formed a protective semicircle behind and next to him to make sure no one bumped into him again. Lorne was close to his right side while Ramirez blocked his left. He couldn't see Meyers or Sanders, but he didn't need to to know they had his back. The two next to him had crossed their arms over their weapons hidden under their togas, obviously making sure that whoever bumped into them didn't realize just what was hidden under their disguise.

John tried to decide if he was annoyed or not at the team's move. He would need to have a word with Major Lorne about mothering your CO once they were back home.

John's thoughts were interrupted when the gate to the Arena came into sight. John tried not to tense too much. Guards were watching as the crowd moved in. Suddenly, they stopped again. Hopefully they hadn't seen him around to recognize him.

"Sheppard," Lorne said in a low voice, apparently choosing not to use his rank. "I think we should use the first opportunity we have to look for the best seats."

"Good thinking, Lorne," Sheppard said, to both ideas. "I'd like to have a good view."

"The best places are next to the Dux's stand," a toothless man said, standing slightly in front of Lorne.

"Do not listen to him. The best placed are opposite of the Dux's stand. The arena is an oval and there you see everything," someone else called from behind them.

A third voice threw his opinion into the round. John looked at Lorne and both rolled their eyes. They started to move again, ignoring the chatter their conversation had started. Once inside, the masses quickly dispersed in different directions.

"Sheppard?" Lorne pointed at an open doorway. John followed his gaze, looking at the sign next to the door.

"Could be a way out," he agreed.

The team moved on, following a small group down the small corridor.

"Oh boy," Sanders gasped, walking in front of them.

"Holy," Meyers agreed, turning to his CO.

John quickened his step. The corridor ended at the foot of a stand that rose behind them. There was a four foot gap to a railing. After that, the arena lay about ten feet lower. As the one guy had said, it was shaped like an oval. To his far right was what had to be the Dux's stand. The balcony slightly reached into the arena, parting the audience stands. The stands, too, were parted into smaller sections divided by small walls. In the middle of the balcony, two throne like chairs were right behind the stone railing. The one on the left was considerably smaller.

"I don't think this is the right place. We should hurry."

John only nodded and took another look around, seeing people quickly filling the sections. Under the balcony was a big gate. From the looks of things, it was the only way in and out of the arena. He turned and followed Lorne.

"Judging from the height of the arena wall, there has to be another level under this. I hope there's some way to access the lower level from here," Lorne whispered.

"Me, too. We need a way down."

"We have enough sheets to knot a rope if needed," Ramirez pointed out in a low voice, pulling on his toga.

"Now that would be a fun story to tell," Sanders agreed, studying Meyers' toga.

John rolled his eyes. "We can save that for later consideration." To his relief, all further conversation died as everyone concentrated on finding a way down.

John slowed when they reached the end of the hallway. "Dammit," he murmured, turning to his left to follow another group. They had apparently found a way down, but it was well guarded.

John stepped out and looked around again for the best place to go.

"Lorne," he said, nodding his head to his right. There was another four foot landing to the front, but unlike the other stand they'd been on, here when you turned left, a staircase led up the ranks. To the right side, several seats were squashed between a couple of columns in the back, the entrance wall and a five foot wall on the other side. There seemed to be gap behind the wall, and a short distance away the balcony of Ducis' stand rose up.

Several columns on the balcony limited the view of the thrones. John walked to the gap and looked down, hoping to figure out what lay under the spectators ranks. The gap was no bigger than three feet but went down about half the height of the arena, the wall to the arena making it look like a long stretched chimney. Lorne was still at his side.

"Inform Campbell to take position on the other side," John said in a low voice. "Not even a window," he grumbled.

"I think the view makes for a good excuse later to leave and look for other seats."

John turned around and looked up the ranks. There were still a few free seats, but they were filling quickly. He looked into the arena. The ranks were filling quickly.

"Yeah. The show should start soon," John agreed.

Lorne nodded, sitting down to make the call. Ramirez, Sanders and Meyers stood in front of him joking around while trying to pretend they belonged there. John turned back to the balcony. It was slightly elevated to make sure you could see Ducis, even sitting behind the wall. He could see movement behind the curtain and hoped to get a glimpse of Teyla or Rodney, but so far he had only seen guards.

"Colonel?"

John startled. His head snapping around, he tightened his hold on the railing as he lost his equilibrium for a moment. Ramirez stepped closer.

"I'm fine," John groused, suddenly realizing that something had changed. Fanfares sounded through the arena, killing the chatter. John slowly let go of the railing. Ramirez stayed close to his side as he wobbled over and sat down heavily. Lorne quickly slid over to sit next to John.

"With all due respect, sir," he whispered, using the noise from the playing trumpets. "I think it would be better to get you back to the jumper." John glared at Lorne. "Just saying."

"I'm fine."

"Yes, sir."

"Campbell's view on the balcony and the arena's entrance is a bit better." Lorne pointed to the opposite side. John spotted their team in the second section. They were lined up on the side of the balcony, sitting in the second to fourth row.

The people started to cheer and Lorne stood up to see what was happening. The entrance to the arena couldn't be seen from their position. After a moment, John saw five fighters walk into the arena, waving to the cheering audience. For a moment, John worried their impassiveness would draw attention to them, but they were efficiently covered in their secluded section. Campbell and his men on the other side were taking part in the cheering.

When the fighters reached the back of the arena, things calmed down again and the fanfares started once more.

"Sirs." The sharp exclamation from behind drove the officers' attention to the balcony the same moment the people started to cheer and clap again.

Ducis had arrived, Teyla right beside him.

"Teyla," John breathed, fighting hard to stay in his seat. Her gaze was on the ground. She wore a new set of clothes.

"I can't see McKay," Meyers whispered.

"Or Ronon," Sanders added.

John only let his eyes stray for a moment before looking back at Teyla.

Ducis stepped toward the railing. He lifted his arms, bathing in the worship of his people. Suddenly drums sounded and he shifted his arms making a shushing motion. Apparently he was going to say a few words, not that John cared. He concentrated on Teyla, glad he could see her from this vantage point. He knew that as soon as they sat down they would be behind the columns.

* * *

><p>Teyla pursed her lips. She should have foreseen this, as Dexcian should have known as well. Again she was led into the dreaded room.<p>

She looked down at herself, her dress torn and rumpled. "Not very presentable," she murmured under her breath. Her hand was in her pocket, the knife clutched in her palm.

The guard pushed her right into Grey One as soon as the door opened, not giving her a moment to consider where to hide the precious good. In addition, she had to take out her hand to keep from knocking over the other woman. Grey One caught her and Teyla felt her remove the knife from her pocket in one swift motion. Teyla looked her into the eyes. Grey One's eyes were firm and telling her not to say anything.

Grey One pulled her up ungently and motioned for the others to move in.

"Do not think you are special just because the Dux has decided to make you his wife. It just means that he will enjoy your company more often."

Teyla couldn't help but shudder and feel exposed. Her hands were clutched into fists, but she endured getting bathed, powdered and being covered in sickly sweet smelling oil. That done, she was stuffed into a white dress with golden bindings. Teyla endured everything in silence. There was nothing she could do here anyway.

The only thing left was her hair. Teyla was surprised when Grey One shooed everyone out, so the two were alone. She stood next to Teyla. When Teyla looked at her, she moved her head away and forced Teyla to look into the mirror. Then she started to braid her hair. She leaned down to Teyla.

"Even here the walls have ears," she whispered. "You will be returned before the Dux takes you to his bed. Be grateful for the honor," she said straightening herself up again. "The Dux enjoys the company of many, but you will get your own halls and have contact with the other noblewomen. The head of the house, however, is and will be the Dux's mother, though she is of an old age. If you survive long enough, you will be her successor. This, however, does not allow you speak your mind. The men are our masters and they will always be. You do what you are told and you keep your head down."

Teyla watched Grey One finish the last braid. She had braided in extensions too and her hair felt heavy. She bound everything together, curling the braids in a half circle at the back of her head. Suddenly, Grey One had the palm knife in her hand and slipped it between the braids. Her eyes twinkled for a moment and then the stone mask slipped back into place. She loosed some tendrils.

"Hersilia," she called loudly. A moment later, two women breezed into the closed of section carrying trays with jewelry. The whole process hadn't taken more than twenty minutes, but when Teyla looked into the mirror one last time she didn't recognize the woman staring back at her.

"Perfect," Ducis' voice sounded behind her.

Teyla cringed and closed her eyes for a moment. Grey One grasped her arm and turned her around to face her new husband. Teyla had to pull together every ounce of willpower she had to not jump forward and pull the knife, but this was neither the time nor the place.

"You will be the perfect wife tonight. Keep your eyes averted and your head down. I am not your former master and you will learn to live by my rules, for every time you disobey I will punish Dr. McKay. Do you understand?"

Teyla did as told and nodded, keeping her head down though she had to swallow hard.

"You will walk two steps behind me, and to be sure you do, my guards will keep an eye on you."

Teyla balled her hands into tight fists to keep the urge to raise her head under control. Again she nodded. To her chagrin, Ducis chuckled.

"I see you learn fast. Now let's go and watch the games. The quicker they are over, the sooner we will be married."

Teyla looked up enough to see where Ducis was and slowly walked into the position, again quenching the urge to kill the man. She followed, aware of the guards around. The way to the Arena was short, a short gangway connecting the mansion and the arena. Teyla heard the people talking and then a fanfare started.

Ducis turned. "You will follow, but then stand in front of the smaller chair," he ordered. There was a long moment of silence. "Is that clear?"

She nodded. Apparently he had waited for her reaction. She could feel his annoyance that he had to ask for her compliance. He turned again and the heavy doors before them opened and again she had to battle the urge to look up. She followed when Ducis started to move again. She stopped where she was supposed to. Ducis walked one more step and paused at the railing. Since she was forced to look down, she couldn't see into the arena. Ducis started to speak up and told his people his side of the story and announced the capture of the Beast. She ground her teeth together as he made himself the hero.

"Though we have been nothing but forthcoming, I must inform you of a great crime committed by one of the strangers. My great friend and one of my most loyal servants, Dexcian Navis, lord Protector, Commander of the elite forces has been injured by the strangers." Ducis paused and the people made their anger about this loudly known. Teyla tilted her head slightly so she could see a bit better. Ducis' hands were raised. "I know and I share your anger," he announced loudly. "But there will be justice." The audience clapped and roared. "Bring him out."

Teyla froze. She so wanted to see, but she couldn't. Rodney would be the one to pay for her mistakes. It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been more than a few moments. As soon as the door opened, the terrifying howl of the Beast could be heard and, despite the fact that Ducis had already announced its capture, a collective gasp could be heard.

"I am relieved to see you up, Lord Protector. It would have been a shame if you hadn't been here to bring your attacker to justice."

Dexcian didn't answer, but whatever he did was cheered by the audience.

"Ronon Dex, you have been found guilty of attacking one of our own. In accordance to our laws, you will be granted the chance to repute yourself by winning in the Arena. The Ancestors will protect you if you have done nothing wrong."

Teyla closed her eyes. That was their justice? Prove your innocence by killing and fighting for your life? Though the audience was anything but silent, Teyla was sure she had heard Ronon snort.

"Start the games."

Ducis ordered. He stepped back and leaned close to Teyla.

"You will look down into the arena. You will watch as your friend dies. And if you turn away even once, Dr. McKay will need help to walk for the rest of his days," he hissed at her, grabbing her at the arm to pull her with him as he sat down.

* * *

><p>Ronon was pushed out a few steps and then forcefully turned around. His head spun for a moment and his stomach did an uneasy flip. But the fury of being manhandled quickly took over.<p>

"Look up," Spartacus commanded. Hitting him in the back, Ronon made a show stumbling a bit. He heard the mercenaries bark with laughter. If Ducis was surprised to see Spartacus, he didn't show it. He continued with his speech.

"... Lord Protector..." That drew Ronon's attention to Ducis again. He had heard that before. It had to be Spartacus' title. For a second, Ronon wondered what his real name was.

He turned his head slightly. Dexcian stood a step behind him and then suddenly drew his sword and raised it into the air. Dexcian turned to the audience and he used his other hand to draw a line against his throat.

The crowd cheered. When he turned back to Ducis, Dexcian got down on one knee. He lowered the sword to his face first then turned it, both hands resting on the handle as he bowed.

Ronon looked back up to Ducis, who was smiling into the crowd.

Dexcian got to his feet and passed Ronon, bumping into him. "I'll be close," Spartacus suddenly whispered close to his ear.

Ronon watched him hurry into the entrance and vanish behind a corner. First, Ronon thought he had gone for good, but then he saw a shadow move. He couldn't help but grin.

"Ronon Dex."

Ronon looked up at Ducis again, his eyebrows raised, wondering what was coming now.

"You have been found guilty of attacking one of our own."

No surprise there.

"In accordance to our laws, you will be granted the chance to repute yourself by winning in the Arena."

Ronon snorted. Let them come. He didn't need weapons to fight off five drunken mercenaries.

"The Ancestors will protect you if you have done nothing wrong."

"Whatever," Ronon mumbled.

"Start the games."

The mercenaries studied him from the other side of the arena. If they wanted him, they would have to come. Movement registered out of the corner of his eye. Usually he would quickly look around, but he wasn't sure that would help his already pounding head. The two soldiers Spartacus had introduced to him to, Cadmus and Aerod, moved further into the arena and stopped about in the middle, leaning casually against the wall. They looked almost bored, but Ronon knew better. They were ready to break the fight if needed.

Ronon turned his attention back to the mercenaries. Groper and Ratface had separated from the group, slowly advancing on Ronon, while Acrisius, White Eye and the last guy stayed back. They started to circle around him wielding rods. Ronon ducked their strikes left, right, left, turning and twisting. He wanted them to grow impatient and he didn't need to wait long.

Their aim was not to kill, just to hurt him, weaken him. Groper also held a net.

But not with him.

The moment Ronon was in striking distance, he grabbed the net and pulled Groper close. Groper looked at him dumbfounded, but Ronon didn't waste any time. He fisted him across the temple. In a smooth move, he pushed the dazed mercenary away and took the guy's rod. Now they were even.

Ratface paused in stunned disbelief, his rod hanging in midair, and before he could react Ronon slugged his chin, snapping back his head. He went down too. To Ronon's chagrin, Groper had recovered already, and as he was on his way up, something shown in the settling sun. Groper had pulled his sword and struck at Ronon's legs. Ronon jumped up and then rolled over the ground coming to a halt behind Ratface, who had recovered again too.

He grabbed Ratface's arm from behind, turning him. He brought his knee up and a snap as well as a broken cry told him he had broken the limp efficiently, but it wasn't enough. He needed to take him out. He took the second rod and brought it down on Ratface. The guy's head snapped back again and there was another snap telling him some bone had broken. Ratface gracelessly hit the ground, unmoving.

It had been almost too easy, but he didn't have the time to dwell on it as Groper was already on him again, this time accompanied by White Eye. Ronon lost them for a moment when the pounding in his head reared up and was rewarded with a stinging on his bicep when Groper's sword found its goal. This, however, helped. The fury over his own mistake helped him concentrate again. He swung his rods and drove the two away a bit. Before they could regroup, Ronon launched at them. This time Groper fell to his knees, his hands on his throat as he gasped for air. He wouldn't get it. Ronon's strike to the man's throat had hit point blank, most likely crushing the man's larynx.

With an angry shout, Acrisius and his friend ran towards them. Yeah, they had underestimated Ronon, but now they knew and would be more careful. The three circled Ronon, but kept their distance. A quick gaze at Cadmus and Aerod let Ronon know that the soldiers were ready to get in on the fight, no longer leaning against the wall. Ronon concentrated back on the three around him. He kept moving to not lose anyone from sight. He felt the tension in the air.

"So who's next?" he growled.

* * *

><p>Teyla jumped when Ducis' fist hit his armrest for the third time. Mindful of his threat, she kept her eyes on the arena while fighting the smug smile that wanted to break out, despite everything.<p>

Her fear for Ronon was still great, but he was more than holding his own, despite the fact that he had been injured by the Beast.

Again Ducis growled. The fight was not in any way what he had expected, that was sure. A broken cry echoed through the arena efficiently silencing the cheering crowd for a moment. The first fighter went down in a lifeless heap.

Another joined in, but both were forced back when Ronon struck out at them.

"Casus," Ducis hissed angrily. "Free the Beast," he ordered in a low voice. The man to his right bowed and vanished.

Teyla had to force herself to continue to look into the arena. Apparently, Ducis didn't trust his servants any longer. So he needed to act fast.

* * *

><p>Lorne had John's arm in a strong hold, keeping him from jumping up and attracting attention. The five fighters that had been introduced and celebrated before Ducis had shown up had moved to the far end of the arena wielding their weapons.<p>

What were they supposed to do? They were surrounded and three more soldiers had entered with Ronon. It would be a massacre.

But suddenly John realized just who was with Ronon and then Dexcian hit Ronon in the back. John couldn't help snort when Ronon reacted overdramatically, stumbling a bit.

Lorne looked at John.

"That is Dexcian," John whispered.

Lorne's mouth formed a perfect O. "I hope he's on our side."

"I think he is."

Lorne nodded. "And Ronon is in on whatever they plan."

John nodded too. They turned back to the arena to watch the show.

John tensed again when Dexcian left. What now? The fight started and thankfully Ronon was more than capable of handling himself. Not that John had any doubt on that, but he remembered the Satedan had been knocked out by the Beast. After the second man went down, he had seen enough.

* * *

><p>Quintus watched his men move the cage with the Beast into place warily.<p>

"We should kill it now," Gaius hissed into his ear.

Quintus just shook his head. "Then kill me here and now. What do you think Ducis will do? He will feed lies like he has for so long. People need to see the horror of the Beast themselves. See that it can't be controlled like he has promised."

Gaius grumbled, but didn't say more knowing Quintus was right.

"Is everyone in place?"

"Yes."

"Was there any trouble?"

"No, everything worked out."

"Good." Everything was finally coming together. Ducis' move to capture the Beast instead of killing it had finally united the ranks. Everyone wanted it gone and worked together. Of course, everyone but Ducis' personal guard.

Quintus looked behind the cage to the far left. Dexcian was watching what was going on in the arena, his hand resting on his chest where he had been injured. He hoped his friend would survive today and forgive him for what they were about to do.

"Mine," the Beast howled, running into the cage's bars. The men jumped back. After a moment, they returned to their places. One more push and the cage slipped into the construction that would lead the Beast directly into the arena. Only a small door to the left side let anyone in or out of the arena.

"Free the Beast," Casus' voice echoed loudly through the room.

The men around the cage looked horrified and no one moved for a moment.

Quintus looked around, but the voice had come over a speaker; the man in question was not here.

"Do not stand there. Do it," Dexcian ordered, looking away from the arena for a moment.

The men jumped into action.

* * *

><p>"Time to see if we can get down," John whispered to his men. "Major, let Campbell know to meet …"<p>

John stopped when he heard a very familiar howl. A second later, the Beast burst through the opening gate, going for the first man it could reach.

Fortunately, it wasn't Ronon.

John jumped up, but suddenly all hell broke loose. A man that had run in from the hallway pushed him back down. John's men tensed but stayed seated as an unfamiliar weapon was pointed at them by a second lanky looking man.

John glanced around as the Arena was stormed by soldiers. On the ranks, men stood up to keep the audience in check. Some were apparently blocking the exits, while a few pointed very familiar looking P-90s down the arena.

"Everyone leaving will be killed," said the burly looking soldier that had pushed John. The second only nodded. The two slowly retreated and vanished into the corridor. He looked across the stands toward Campbell. The soldiers had retreated there too.

"Colonel, our weapons," Lorne whispered.

"I know." He needed a plan.

"Mine," the Beast howled and John's attention snapped back to the arena. The Beast stood in the middle of the arena, growling at the slowly approaching invaders.

"Campbell, help Ronon now," John barked into his comm link. "Knot your togas to a rope and get down there."

So much for stupid ideas, but they needed to act and risking killing guys that most likely were on their side seemed like a bad idea. He looked back at the balcony.

"Dammit, I wanted to do that," Meyers complained.

"I'm sure you'll get your chance to do something stupid," John threw back, walking to the wall.

Ducis stood protected by his loyal servants, looking very angry. His mouth was continuously moving as he probably shouted orders. His voice was too faint to carry over the panicked shouts and battle noises. Teyla was struggling against the two meat-mountains holding her. They needed to help her.

He eyed the distance to the balcony railing. Teyla and Ducis were also their only chance to find Rodney, who was still nowhere to be seen.

"Major," John barked, starting to climb up the wall. "Here's your chance, Meyers."

Ducis was led to safety and Teyla was being forced along. Lorne touched his leg.

"Sir, you …" The words died on his lips and he let go. John studied again and then leaped. He almost missed, and for a moment white dots blurred his vision as his chest connected with the stone railing, but he pushed past it using the adrenaline flooding his system. He pulled himself up and quickly climbed over the balcony railing. He took a moment to see if Lorne managed to follow, readying himself to grab for his 2IC.

As soon as Lorne was over, John moved on to the door. It was locked. John took a step back to search for an easier way in. Suddenly Sanders flew past John and hurled himself into the door. With a loud crack, the door gave way and tumbled inside taking the marine with it.

"Thanks." John took a moment to consider the downed marine, who was holding his shoulder. "Ramirez, take care of Sanders and then help kill the Beast."

John turned and then sprinted down the corridor.

He skittered to a halt at the corner when he came face to face with a handful of soldiers, stunners trained on him.

Apparently the waiting force hadn't expected him either and he used the second of confusion to dive back and scramble behind a column.

"Take cover," he shouted.

"Don't shoot! Just don't shoot!"

John was surprised to hear Rodney's voice.

"McKay?" he called, spying the hallway from his hideout. He quickly looked at Lorne to see if the Major had heard the same.

"Oh my God," Rodney's voice answered and a moment later the rumpled looking scientist wobbled around the corner. "You are alive. I knew it," he said, relieved. "What the hell took you so long? Have you any idea what I had to endure?"

John left his hideout unsure what to think, but if this was a trap Lorne and Meyers had their backs. "What's going on?" he asked as he hurried to Rodney's side, supporting the scientist who looked about to fall. "What the hell happened?"

"The question would be what didn't," Rodney said, looking around bewildered. "Two? Is that all?" he asked, having spied Lorne and Meyers.

John kept his eyes trained on the corner, but nothing moved. Trying to decide what his best move would be, he started to slowly back away. Why was no one following Rodney? John was sure he had at least counted five weapons pointed at him. At first Rodney didn't resist, but suddenly he stemmed against John stopping them.

"Why are you not dead and what happened to your clothes?"

"Long story, McKay," John said, getting nervous. Where had Ducis gone? Why were the soldiers not following? "We need to keep moving."

"What? No, we have to get back and wait for Ducis."

"Ohhhkay, don't worry we'll find him, but we have to get away now." Had Rodney been brainwashed?

"What? No no no," Rodney yelled, surprising John when he jerked himself free from John's hold.

"McKay," John growled.

"No, we need to hide or Teyla is lost. They're here to get her and me to the Gate." Rodney flapped his hand back in the direction of the corner. Suddenly Rodney grabbed John and started to drag him towards the corner. "Quintus said that Ducis comes this way to get into the safety of his house." Rodney snorted and stopped, looking seriously at John. "How is it that we not only managed to find some crazed leader yet again, but somehow also managed to stumble into a full blown revolution? I tell you, next time I'll stay home and you can go wherever you want."

"Revolution?" John asked bewildered, glad they had stopped, though uncomfortable as they were closer to the corner again.

Rodney nodded. "Looks like Dexcian's men are less than happy with Caligula and decided he has to go."

"Spartacus' men?" John asked surprised, but before Rodney could answer, a voice interrupted.

"Many of our fathers, brothers and sons have died fighting the Beast. Ducis has spit upon their memories and disgraced their sacrifice. We cannot accept this."

John's head snapped towards the lone man that had rounded the corner, the movement making him dizzy again. Lorne and Meyers reacted, their weapons trained on the newcomer. John grabbed Rodney to keep his balance and cover him.

"Oh please," Rodney snorted again, stepping around John. "Cornias, this is Colonel Sheppard."

"You are not dead?" Cornias asked surprise evident in his tone.

John just shrugged.

"Apparently not," Rodney answered. "You look like hell. You sure you should be running around?" John looked at Rodney, his eyebrows raised. He was one to talk.

"We need to …" Cornias started to say, but he stopped abruptly when he looked down the corridor for the first time to see the opening. He took several steps towards the broken door. "No," he gasped angrily.

"Ok, what's going on? Short version. And where's Ducis?" John groused. They were running out of time.

"We were here to ambush him and free the woman," Cornias said curtly.

"Spart - Dexcian - How did you know his name?" Rodney asked. John just raised his eyebrow. "Anyway, he and Quintus are in the Arena to kill the Beast and get Ronon. We were to meet them at the gate."

"Lorne told me about Dexcian. And Quintus is?" John didn't really care for names, but he was confused.

"Quintus is his left hand," Rodney elaborated.

"Ok, but where did Ducis and his men go? Is there another way?"

Cornias shrugged. "There are many secret passageways, but only the Dux and his guard know all of them. I do know of a door in the mansion that was said to be a secret passageway to the Arena. It is our best chance."

John thought for a moment, looking at Rodney. He looked awful. "Meyers, get McKay out and tell Jones to pick you up."

"One of my men could help them to get out faster."

John regarded Cornias for a moment. "Your enemy's enemy is your friend," he murmured under his breath. "Thank you."

"But," Rodney started to protest.

"No, Rodney," John barked, effectively killing whatever his friend wanted to say. "Meyers," John said. The marine stepped forward.

"Marius," Cornias called. A man appeared. "Accompany them out of the city as fast as you can."

The man nodded and wordlessly passed, taking the lead. Rodney followed grumbling, Meyers hovered closed to the scientist. He turned away.

"Lead the way," he told Cornias.

I'm coming, Teyla, he thought hurrying after their new friends, hoping it wasn't a trap.

* * *

><p>Dexcian ground his teeth. Quintus had started down the path of rebellion.<p>

At least he had made sure that no one could leave the Arena to call for help from the manse. That meant it would only be Casus' men fighting them.

He shook his head. A rebellion, what nonsense. What would the difference be? A new ruler, the same rules. Their society was still too stuck in their traditions. He wasn't a politician, he was a soldier.

Dexcian shook his head.

It was too late now and he had a promise to fulfill.

Movement caught his attention just when he was about to join the fight in the arena.

"Let me go," a woman demanded. The confident tone now familiar to Dexcian, he took a step back and caught a glimpse of a group moving through a passageway he had never seen before.

"Ducis," he growled. He looked back at the arena. His fight lay there. He was sure Quintus hadn't known of this escape route, as he hadn't either.

"Quintus," he hollered.

"I can explain," the man in question answered from behind the cage. "Listen," Quintus started.

"I do not have the time," Dexcian interrupted, walking around the cage. "Dux Ducis just left."

"My men," Quintus started again.

"Are waiting for nothing. He used a secret passage." Dexcian pointed at the corner.

"I'll get her back," Quintus promised.

Dexcian just nodded. He didn't watch him leave, but turned and headed to his own fight. It might have been wiser to send one or two of the men with Quintus. One against Casus and six of his best men. Quintus was armed with a stunner and the modified Aranea. Maybe the moment of surprise he had would be enough to free Teyla. He had seen her fight. Together they stood a better chance. He had no doubt Quintus would make the right choice.

Dexcian stepped into the arena and the chaos. He was surprised to see more unfamiliar fighters wearing the same attire as Sheppard and McKay.

Where had they come from?

* * *

><p>"So who's next?" Ronon growled.<p>

He watched the three men, considering who was most likely to attack next and who was the easiest for him to take out. His gaze landed on White Eye. He obviously was the oldest and his best option. He stopped moving to let White Eye get behind him. He tensed, waiting for him to make a move.

Suddenly, the right gatewing to the arena opened. Acrisius and his friend stood in front of Ronon with their backs to the gate. Before the gate fully opened, a dark shadow burst through. Ronon instinctively took a few steps back, passing White Eye, who stood unmoving, gaping at the opening.

A terrifying scream echoed through the Arena and bounced off the high walls. Ronon crouched down and held his head as the pain from the concussion he had most likely suffered spiked again. White Eye, catching the movement, copied him as Acrisius dove to the side. Only the last one stood rooted in place.

The Beast didn't think twice about grabbing the mercenary. The man's mouth was open in a silent yell.

Cadmus and Aerod were behind the Beast. Ronon saw more soldiers bleed into the arena through a small door in the left wing. They crept along the wall. Cadmus too started towards Ronon. Shouts from the ranks drew his attention up to the stands. Armed soldiers had stormed the ranks too. Three P-90s were pointed into the arena. Ronon hoped Dexcian had told them not to shoot.

The Beast turned and moved towards the middle of the arena, dragging the captured fighter with it. He looked strange and Ronon realized what exactly was wrong. The fighter had aged considerably. His hair was turning white. The Beast was feeding on him.

"Mine," it roared again, looking around. Searching.

Ronon slowly crept to the wall to meet Cadmus.

"Ronon."

Ronon tried not to move too abruptly at hearing his name. Again he let his gaze travel up the wall and to the stands. To his surprise, he found Capt. Campbell and his three teammates looking down at him. Campbell held out a P-90 and dropped it into his hands.

On the ground, Cadmus sidled up to him. "More of your people?"

"Yep," Ronon said grinning.

Cadmus handed Ronon his blaster, just when a rope of white line sheets dropped from above. A moment later Campbell stood next to Ronon.

"Those won't do much good," Ronon stated, handing Campbell the P-90 back.

"The Colonel said that," Campbell pointed at the Beast that still stood in the middle of the arena. "But it sure works better fighting the guys from before."

Ronon looked around spying Acrisius and White Eye fighting their way to the door while their partner was still being fed upon. Suddenly something clicked.

"You saw Sheppard?" Ronon turned back to Campbell, fearing the hope that was surging through his chest.

"The Colonel and Major Lorne are after …"

A howl ended the conversation abruptly. Apparently, the Beast was done feeding. It held the mercenary up and huffed at it. But instead of just letting him drop, it flexed its arm and hurled the dried body into the opposite stands. To Ronon's surprise only women seemed to occupy the space, they scrambled away from the body to the sides and exit, screaming.

On the other stands, the men too seemed done with the show and were fighting for their way out.

The Beast roared and then started to run. About ten feet in front of the wall, it lunged into the air. Its claws grabbed the top of the railing of the stands. The soldiers in the stands holding the P-90s started to fire.

"Stop," Ronon roared, but already people started to fall, hit by stray bullets.

"Reed," Campbell shouted up to the only man of his team still in the ranks. "Try to stop them."

Reed nodded. He turned and climbed over the first wall separating the ranks.

"Don't shoot," another voice barked. Ronon turned his head. Dexcian was moving through the arena.

"The nets," Dexcian ordered. "Stop the Beast."

Nets and ropes were thrown at the Beast. Dexcian threw something black at the Beast. It howled and then fell back to the ground mere moments before climbing over the railing. It growled and withered on the ground, striking at everything getting close.

The Belosian soldiers attacked with spears and swords, but either couldn't get close enough or the weapons broke upon touching the Beast's skin.

"Campbell, you got any C4?" Ronon asked.

"Sure, how much do you need?" Campbell returned, starting to pull the blocks from his vest pockets.

"All you have." Ronon held out his hand as Campbell and his team emptied their vest pockets.

Ronon grinned taking in the eight blocks. "Let's go," he grumbled.

"What do you want us to do?"

"You said Sheppard's alive?"

"Yes, sir, chasing after Ducis and Teyla."

Ronon's grin widened. "Good, let's kill the Beast so I get to see him." Ronon started forward. The Beast was fighting off its many attackers just like in the cave. Dexcian stood back shouting orders, obviously awaiting a chance for a deadly strike.

* * *

><p>"I think we should go back," Rodney said, slowing.<p>

"The Colonel said to get you to the jumper."

"I know that, but he might need my help." Rodney stopped and turned toward Meyers. The guide too stopped, walking a few steps back.

"I'm sure the Colonel …"

A clanking noise stopped any further discussion. Meyers and Marius quickly surrounded Rodney.

"What was that?" the scientist whispered after a long moment of silence.

"Quiet," Marius hissed.

Glaring at the soldier, Rodney shut his mouth. After another moment of tense silence, he relaxed and started to move again. After two steps, Marius turned to Rodney, his fingers touching his lips.

"Didn't know there was a universal gesture to be quiet," Rodney grumbled.

"Wouldn't have guessed," Meyers hissed from behind. "Now be quiet."

"This is a freaking maze. We'll never find the Arena in time." The voice came so abrupt and loud Rodney almost bolted. "Your shoulder's broken. The only thing you'll be doing is watching."

"That's Ramirez," Rodney squeaked.

"Shushhh," Meyers hissed again. Silence greeted them. "Please stay with the doc," Meyers asked Marius in a low voice as he crept forward. He pressed himself to the wall, his P-90 pointed on the corner. Something moved and Meyers jumped in front of the corner.

His stance immediately relaxed and he dropped his P-90, chuckling.

"We can't take you anywhere," he stated, waving Rodney and Marius over.

"I told you it was Ramirez," Rodney blurted.

"You did, Doc."

"We should go," Marius stated, nervously looking around.

"Right," Meyers agreed

"You're going to the Arena?" Sanders asked enthusiastically.

"The Colonel ordered Dr. McKay out to the jumper. Marius here is our guide. I think you should come with us."

Ramirez regarded McKay. The Colonel had said he should go to the Arena, but he had a feeling he should check McKay first. The man was beyond pale and looked like he was about to fall down any moment.

"I should check Dr. McKay," Ramirez agreed. "Lead the way," he added to Marius.

* * *

><p>"Arrrrggghhhhh."<p>

The guard's hold lessened for a moment and Teyla freed one of her arms. She very seldom resorted to this means of defence. Now that she thought about it, she didn't think she had bitten anyone since that one time her cousin had sat on her, using his weight to pin her down so his brother could pull out her loose tooth. She should have simply asked her father then to make the pain go away, but she hadn't wanted to bother him and her slightly elder cousins had said it would prove that she was all grown up.

Now, she was as desperate as she had been that day. She had tried to free herself for the past few minutes, but the grunts only tightened their hold on her. Her head was bent in a way she couldn't just throw it back, but she could turn it and the guard's bicep had been there.

She flung her arm out and it connected with something solid. The guard holding her upper body yelped. Suddenly his hold on her vanished.

She had hoped the other guard holding her legs would let go of her too, but he didn't, robbing her of her chance to twist and ease her descent to the floor. She tried to brace for the impact, but things happened too fast and her shoulder crashed into the ground. Her head snapped back, hitting the stone floor with full force.

* * *

><p>Quintus hurried down the narrow corridor, listening for sounds ahead. The light down here was far worse than he had feared. Still, he refrained from starting a light. The darkness gave him additional cover. Suddenly, the light of torches flickered ahead of him. He slowed enough so his footsteps would be swallowed by noises of the group ahead. Only a few more moments and he saw them.<p>

Casus and Ducis were already way ahead of the second group, which was directly in front of him. Two guards were missing, most likely sent ahead to make sure the Guard in the mansion were ready to fight any rebels daring to attack there.

All the better for him.

Quintus concentrated on the smaller group. Two guards were holding the woman, Teyla Emmagan. Surrender obviously wasn't a word she had ever heard. The tiny woman was bucking and twisting in her captors' grasp, slowing them down further. The guards muttered angry expletives.

The guard in front held the woman's legs. He would have to knock him out first.

But things suddenly happened all at once and Quintus could only react.

A cry echoed off the wall and the guard holding the woman's upper body twisted. The cry was replaced by the sound of flesh meeting flesh. Quintus aimed at the guard in front, but he was too late. The guard holding the woman's upper body recoiled and let her go. Though she tried to turn, the other guard didn't let go of her legs, efficiently trapping her. There was no sound other than the woman's body connecting with the stone floor.

Quintus was stunned for a moment.

"Idiots," Ducis yelled angrily, turning with Casus and hurrying back.

Quintus didn't think. He pulled the trigger. The blue bolt cast an eerie light for a moment and the guard holding the woman's legs fell to the ground.

"Rebels!" a guard yelled and turned, throwing his torch in Quintus' direction.

The torch was followed by energy bolts as Casus fired blindly. "Stand down," he ordered.

"Never," Quintus shouted back, trying to see the woman, but the torchlight had now gone.

At the far end of the corridor behind Ducis and his men, he could make out daylight. If he shot now, he would give away his position.

Scrambling noises and dark shadows moved against the faint light. He heard murmuring, but couldn't make out the words. He holstered his gun and readied the modified Aranea. He slowly crept forward listening for any noise.

Two shadows moved in the light, one carrying a still third.

Quintus closed his eyes and let his instincts take over. A grin spread over his face as his eyes snapped open.

An arm swung his way. Quintus ducked and then struck out, letting the Aranea do its job. A piercing cry told him he had hit his aim. He let the Aranea drop. The cry died quickly behind him, probably with the guard that had issued it.

Quintus took a moment as he crept towards the exit to mourn the worthless bloodshed caused by misplaced loyalty. He knew it couldn't be avoided. Ducis had chosen the men for his guard carefully, loyal and strong, but not smart. They followed, and as soon as their current leaders were gone, they would yield to whoever came next. He just hoped they won before they were weakened to a point that made their city vulnerable to attacks from rivaling cities.

When he reached the edge of the shadows, just outside the light that led into the hallway, Quintus drew his sword.

* * *

><p>One moment Teyla had been on the floor, the next she was hauled to her feet. There was no light and she had no idea what was going on. Whoever was with her was not very gentle and dragged her with him, her feet stumbling over the floor. She heard whispering, but couldn't make sense of the words. All of a sudden, light blinded her, she blinked hard and after a few tries everything came into sharp focus.<p>

"Take her," Casus ordered, pulling her arm and roughly pushing her over to two guards. Teyla barely managed to catch herself and for a moment the world twirled around her. The right guard took her arms in a death grip making it impossible for her to strike out.

"Braius, go and have the guard assemble in the Great Hall."

Three and Ducis, she thought wondering where the other guards had gone. There had been more. She regarded the guards on the left. Casus would be the hardest to overcome, but all she actually needed to do was free herself and run to return to the Arena. As the guard's hand painfully dug into her arms, she looked back at the corridor leading to where she knew her friends were.

A terrifying scream sounded from the corridor.

Casus and Braius tensed, pushing Ducis gently behind them. They watched the corridor, but for a long moment nothing happened.

All of a sudden a man burst out wielding his sword. Quintus.

Before Casus and Braius could react, Braius crumpled to the floor.

"Quintus," Casus growled and drew his sword to parry Quintus' attack.

Teyla didn't wait to see what happened next. It was now or never.

The guard lessened his grip only for a moment, but it was enough. Teyla twisted. As soon as her arm was free, she swung her elbow back. The guard howled, tearing on the arm still in his hold. The force pushed her to the floor. Teyla tensed ready to strike out, but before she could, a hand tangled in her hair, painfully wrenching her head back. Teyla felt like screaming but didn't, unwilling to show any weakness.

She felt a another tug. A cry sounded behind her and the hold vanished. The guard in front grabbed her again and his arms closed around her neck.

Ducis stood before her, his face an angry mask. His eyes were downcast, so Teyla followed his gaze. There was a strand of her chestnut brown hair in his hand. Blood welled up around it from two small cuts. The palm knife Grey One had hidden in her hair.

The thought spurred her into action again. She let go of the guard's arm around her neck and threw her head back. He grunted, his arm closing around her neck. But Teyla had just one aim. The guard tried to catch her hands with his free hand, but she was faster, and after the second try she finally felt the comforting form of the knife's handle. She pulled, feeling painful tugs as she pulled a few of her hairs out with the knife.

She tightened her grasp and aimed for the arm choking her. She brought her hand down once, twice. After the third stab, the hold on her vanished and the guard let go with a grunt. Teyla pivoted around. It was a short fight. The guards mouth opened in a silent scream, his hands clutching his throat. Blood flowing freely over his hands.

Teyla whirled around again. Ducis stood a few feet away, his eyes wide. He looked around. Only Casus was left, but he was too involved in his fight with Quintus and the two had moved away quite a bit. He looked back at Teyla and suddenly his whole demeanor transformed.

"Dr. McKay will suffer greatly for this." He took a step closer, raising his unhurt hand. "This is for hiding a knife, and since there's only one person that could have help you place it there, she will be punished for her betrayal as well."

He swung his hand towards Teyla and she quickly ducked out of the way. She spun and kicked her right leg out in a low circle over the ground. Time slowed as Teyla's leg swept Ducis and he flew into the air.

Ducis hit the floor like dead meat. His breath rushed out in a pain-filled gasp as Teyla rose to her feet.

"You will pay for this," Ducis growled, turning to his side only to find himself face to face with Braius' dead body. He shrank back a bit.

"The only one who will pay is you," Teyla returned, watching Ducis carefully. Could she just kill him? Maybe she should leave that part to Quintus or Dexcian. But he killed John. Teyla moved forward.

"This is for my husband," she hissed, kicking Ducis onto his side. He rolled closer to Braius. Though she knew she wouldn't be able to kill Ducis in cold blood, she wanted him to suffer. She took a step closer, readying herself for another kick. The more she thought about John and what could have been between her and him, the colder she grew inside.

All of a sudden Ducis twisted and grabbed something from Braius' belt. Teyla tried to dive out of the way, but it was too late. Something cold touched her skin and intense pain enveloped her, pressing her to the ground. She tried to fight it and get up. The pain lessened and she managed to bring her hands and knees under her. Something connected with her side. She landed on her side as pain radiated from her ribs.

"I had hoped to break you the hard way, but I'm over it," Ducis said, looming over her. "See this?" He held out one of their stunner weapons. "When you wake, you won't even remember your husband."

He pointed the gun at her, not giving her time to answer before he fired. For a moment her vision greyed, but Teyla fought it and started to move. She managed to lift her upper body off the floor.

"Never," she spat.

Ducis took aim again. "We'll see."

The intense pain from before returned. Ducis pulled the trigger of the weapon. Once. Twice. A third time. Teyla wanted to fight, but she couldn't any longer. She closed her eyes waiting for darkness to finally claim her.

A single shot rang out. Teyla's eyes snapped open with renewed will to fight, the sound too familiar not to recognize.

"John," Teyla breathed, lifting her head up.

"Drop your swords," Major Lorne's familiar voice called. As indistinct shapes moved and drew closer, she recognized Lorne right away.

Teyla laid her head back down, all energy gone. She had been foolish. John was gone. He had died alone, lying in his own blood.

Maybe forgetting wasn't so bad after all, she thought, closing her eyes and giving in to the darkness.


End file.
